


Do Androids Dream of Revolution

by oh_fudgecakes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Government Conspiracy, Live and Love: A Yuri!!! On Ice Big Bang, M/M, Orwellian Dystopia, Revolution, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Burn, Strap-Ons, some violence near the end but not too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 77,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_fudgecakes/pseuds/oh_fudgecakes
Summary: When Viktor Nikiforov, a graduating AI programmer, is recruited to work on a highly secretive government project, he is captivated. Four years into development, an advanced government android had wiped its memory bank in grief after the programmer developing it died in a lab accident. Now, the government wants Viktor to take over the project, build the android back up, and recover the late programmer's research logs from the android's memory bank.However, as the young android Yuuri gradually regains his memories, the pair come to realize that the government's story is not adding up, and that there seems to be some kind of insidious purpose behind their task. This realization soon launches them into a world of adventure, rebellion, and a love beyond their wildest imagination. To win, it might just take a revolution.This fic was written for the Live Love YOI Big Bang and is the first of a two part series. It is complete and will be updated every Tuesday.





	1. The Long Pilot Episode

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not be possible without my amazing betas, [Lou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish), [Izzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/pseuds/izzyisozaki), and [Rakel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar). Never thought I would be able to churn out an epic length fic in just 3 months. I'm also grateful for the friends I made over the course of this bang. It's been pretty crazy. There's been lots of ups and downs. These friends have been there for me throughout it all. Thank you all so much.
> 
> Last note: In this universe, the government is known as the Bodypolitik. It is a reference to the concept of the [body politic](https://www.britannica.com/topic/body-politic).
> 
> EDIT: I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic now has art by my amazing artist/beta [Izzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/pseuds/izzyisozaki). The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in the later half of the fic. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and thank you so much to Izzy! My original artist could not complete a piece and I had not been assigned a pinch-hitter, so I had accepted that I would not get any art. However, when my betas learnt that my artist had backed out, Izzy rushed out a piece in I think a week, way less time than any pinch-hitter would have gotten. I think it's amazing what Izzy has done in such a short period of time! Please reblog and give Izzy all the love!

Viktor looks up over the dark skyline of the Capitol, glass in hand. It's a familiar sight, grey rooftops packed close together, and in the distance, a looming monolith covered in glittering hexagonal screens. The headquarters of the Bodypolitik is truly a thing of magnificence. The screens project the symbol of an eye, blinking slowly and pensively as it overlooks the city in its entirety.

Around him, the murmuring crowd swirls under neon lights like a slow lazy tide. Round and round, people move from person to person, conversation to conversation, topic to topic. Glasses clink under the muted sounds of a recorded piano.

“— you? Have you settled on a job yet?”

Viktor starts, and returns his attention to the young man opposite him. They had been queuing together at the buffet table and had struck up a casual conversation. His conversation partner had been elated to discover that they had been in high school together, Viktor a lot less so. Luckily, they are from different batches. This man does not remember him. He is still an undergraduate.

“Not yet,” Viktor replies stiffly, “I’ve interviewed and had several offers come back, but I'm still deciding between all of them.”

He peers down the line at the buffet table, but they are still a considerable distance away. It doesn't look like he’ll be escaping the queue anytime soon. Beside him, his temporary companion is nodding emphatically.

“I’ve already accepted a position, but lately I've been looking to get married, and I’ve been matched up with so many women on the State Relationship Bank that it's just so hard to choose! Some choices last a lifetime, you know?”

The man laughs. Viktor just nods blankly. He scans the roof terrace for something, anything he can use to escape the conversation. Instead, he spots a familiar face — another old classmate, from across the rooftop.

He quickly averts his gaze. This is why he so rarely joins university events.

“And what about you?” the young man asks, “Are you planning on getting married now that we’re graduating and all?”

Viktor is hit by a sudden sense of exhaustion. He really doesn't want to talk.

“Artificial intelligence programming,” he says, shortly, “Please excuse me. I just realized I left something of mine in the bathroom earlier.”

“Oh,” the man says, looking slightly taken aback, “I hope you find it.”

Viktor scrams. Mild chatter envelopes him as he makes his way through the crowd. He sees a few familiar faces, ex-classmates, but that's no big surprise. St. Peter’s School for Boys has always had a good record for getting its boys into top universities. He hasn’t made any special effort to know anyone since the big fiasco he’d caused in school, which had ultimately led to him being withdrawn from St. Peter’s. He'd not had much of a social life after that, by virtue of being homeschooled, and had not regained any inclination to be social over the course of his undergraduate, and now post-graduate, life.

He remembers back when he'd been the center of every party, when he’d _loved_ the attention and the popularity. Now, the idea just tires him. Perhaps it's just part of growing older. At twenty-seven, he is significantly older than most of the party-goers here. They are still undergraduates, still young. More than anything, he does not want to meet anyone who might remember him from his teenage years.

As he pulls open the door to the stairwell that will take him down from the rooftop, a woman speaks up from beside it.

“Skipping your own graduation party, Vitya?” she asks, and tuts.

He jumps a little, surprised at being addressed directly, before easing as he recognizes her. It's Lilia. He can't help the smile that comes onto his face at the sight of his supervisor.

“I’m tired already,” he says, “I thought I’d head home early and rest. I have another job interview tomorrow, you see.”

“Another?” Lilia asks, “Haven’t you got multiple offers already?”

“I don't like any of them enough to decide yet,” Viktor admits, “I thought it was better to have a wide variety to choose from than a narrow one. I'm still shopping around.”

The truth is he really doesn't like _any_ of his options at the moment. He sighs. Lilia’s hard gaze softens a little.

“Your dissertation has been very well-received,” she says, proud, “I’ve had several companies call me to ask you to take up projects. None align with your interests, however. I know your tastes. You've always been a picky boy.”

She sighs, long-suffering, and Viktor grins sheepishly in response.

“Goodnight Lilia,” he says fondly, “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Yes. Rest well, child."

Viktor pushes open the door to the stairwell and begins to clatter down the stairs, footsteps echoing around the narrow space. Behind him, the door to the rooftop begins to swing slowly closed, but right before it shuts, he hears Lilia’s voice, in an undertone.

“The Bodypolitik called to ask about you.”

Viktor's eyes widen as the door clicks shut.  
  
  


 

As he walks from the university campus towards the shuttle station, he looks up. There is a camera fixed to the street lamp above him. He looks into the dark glass of it for a long moment, before biting his lip, and continuing on his way.

They’d already cleared _that_ up, hadn’t they?

There’s _absolutely no reason_ for them to be calling about St. Peter’s again. Shaking his head, he sticks his hands in his coat pockets, huddles down, and walks a little faster.

He’s worrying for nothing.

He has _nothing_ to be afraid of.

Up above, surveillance cameras watch darkly from every streetlamp.  
  
  
  


As usual, the shuttle takes a while to depart, puttering and clanking as makes its ascent up above the rooftops of the Capitol. Viktor is immediately pressed into the aluminum wall of the shuttle by the peak hour crowd. He manages to raise his wrist in the narrow space between him and the next passenger, and taps on the face of his watch. A glittering eye opens on the screen, and blinks once, twice. He leans close as the radio host begins to monotonously read out the news for the day.

By the time he gets home, the first floor of the house is already dark, but upstairs, he can see that the light is still turned on in the room beside his. He climbs the old wooden steps to the front door and unlocks it, before entering.

The foyer is dark, but there is light shining from one of the parlor doors. Wood creaks quietly under each step. As he passes the parlor, a voice rumbles softly from it.

“Vitya. You’re back early.”

Viktor stops in the doorway, and turns to face his godfather. Yakov is sitting reclined in an plush armchair, book in his lap and reading glasses perched on his nose.

“I decided to leave early to rest. I have a job interview tomorrow.”

“Another?” Yakov asks, faintly disapproving, “With who?”

“A company that specializes in designing droid blueprints for logistical purposes,” Viktor says, “You know, those dumb scuttling things that run around carrying boxes. Not exactly high end AI technology."

Yakov snorts.

“If you're not interested, then why go for it?”

“It’d be rude to cancel now! It's tomorrow morning. Besides, I don't like any of the others either.” Viktor grins cheekily. “Maybe I _should_ become a professor after all.”

Yakov’s mouth hardens immediately, face shuttering. He puts his book aside and slips his glasses off, then winces a little as he takes his feet of the foot stool, rubbing gingerly at his right knee.

“You won’t like it Vitya,” he grumbles, “Go work for the private sector.”

“You say that about the public sector too,” Viktor complains, leaning back against the doorway and folding his arms, “Maybe I just don't like how commercial the private sector is. They have little use for the more intelligent AIs. They just need dumb scuttling androids to do all the dirty work. That's not my area of interest.”

“Sometimes you have to settle, Vitya.”

With a small grunt, Yakov pushes to his feet and leans on his walking cane. Viktor knows not to help him by now. It'll just frustrate him. Still, he watches carefully over his godfather as the old man comes slowly towards him, one painful-looking step at a time.

“You won't enjoy working in the Bodypolitik,” Yakov grumbles.

“Did _you_ enjoy working in the Bodypolitik?”

Yakov does not answer.

“You should get a knee replacement,” Viktor says, as Yakov passes him.

Yakov snorts.

“You go to a hospital these days for a knee-replacement,” he says, “And you come out with a prosthetic leg, arm, and heart. You know they’ll replace everything that isn't working like it used to, and I’ll be damned before I let that happen.”

Up in the study, the ancient grandfather clock chimes on the hour.

“Goodnight, Vitya,” Yakov rumbles, before he closes his bedroom door behind him.

With a sigh, Viktor shakes his head. Yakov is Yakov, and he’ll always be too stubborn for his own good.

Viktor takes the stairs up two at a time, before padding down the hallway on quiet feet. As he passes the room beside his, he hears the faint sound of strumming. The guitar is hopelessly, hopelessly out of tune.

He muffles his snicker as he ducks into his room.

  
  
  


In the morning, he is woken by the sound of rigorous stomping. The old wooden house _crunches_ under each loud, angry footfall.

_“Yakov!”_

The forceful footsteps fade slowly down the stairs.

Viktor rolls over and taps on the screen of his watch. He winces at the sudden glare as a holographic screen opens up in front of him, and quickly lowers the brightness of it. Yawning, he scrolls through the new emails in his inbox.

He has two new job offers and an invitation to speak at a conference on machine intelligence. He flags each of them for consideration, and then rolls out of bed, yanking the curtains open. The sun shines sepia over the garden. On the street running past their house, a boy is rushing to school on a hoverboard.

Turning around, Viktor opens his closet and picks out a dress shirt, pants, and a matching tie.

When he arrives downstairs, Yakov and Yuri are already at the dining table. Yakov has his glasses on, squinting at the holographic screen in front of him as he scrolls gingerly through the news. Until a few years ago, Yakov had insisted on having an _actual_ newspaper delivered every morning, but he had been forced to make the switch after the State Press had finished phasing print newspapers out. On the opposite end of the table, Yuri is complaining loudly and to no one in particular about school.

“— and then she said, the school rules state that your hair cannot be more than two shades lighter than your eyebrows at any point in time, so I was like, how on _earth_ can that be an actual school rule? But she took out the school handbook and that rule was _actually_ in it!?”

Yuri downs his orange juice in one gulp, and then slams it angrily down on the table.

“It’s not _my_ fault my hair is naturally lighter than my eyebrows!”

Viktor clears his throat to hide his laughter, and sits down at the table. Their service droid lays a plate of waffles down in front of him.

“Thank you,” he says absently, and the droid beeps once in acknowledgement, before it wheels silently back to the kitchen.

“The other boys are really stuck up too,” Yuri continues, “They are always all my father or mother or uncle or whoever is so-and-so of the what-and-what, and once I graduate St. Peter’s I want to work in blah-blah high-ranking position, and that’s _literally_ all they talk about. Like, does it _not_ get old? Do you _know_ how boring it is boarding with these people?”

Viktor rests his chin in his hand as he waits for the ever-predictable _why did Viktor get to be homeschooled!_ and the inevitable _homeschool me, Yakov!_ but somehow, it doesn't come.

Instead—

“The only good thing about St. Peter’s,” Yuri announces to the room at large, “Is Beka!”

Viktor blinks, surprised, and straightens up. Yakov is still absorbed in reading the news.

“What is a Beka?” Viktor asks, extremely curious.

“Beka isn't a what, Beka is a who!” Yuri snaps, “And Beka is _the_ coolest person in the whole of St. Peter’s. He’s not like the other boys. He’s _actually_ cool. He has a really cool haircut that the teachers are always ragging on him for, and he DJs, and he also rides a motorbike! He took me on a joyride once and it was _so cool.”_

“Sounds like a delinquent,” Viktor comments.

“He’s badass, is what he is!”

“And unless the rules have changed since _I_ was at St. Peter’s,” Viktor continues mildly, “It is _extremely_ against school rules to leave the campus during the school term — so what is this I hear again about joyrides?”

Yakov sighs.

“Just don't get caught,” he grumbles, through Yuri’s scandalized protests.

He’d been a lot more frantic about Viktor’s rule-breaking when _Viktor_ had been a teen. It's a little unfair how much he's mellowed over the years.

Yuri _hmphs_.

“Not everyone can be the golden boy like you, Viktor,” he accuses, “I bet you broke plenty of rules. _You_ just managed to get away with them.”

As Yuri continues with his tirade, Viktor smiles. Despite a rough start, Viktor had quickly learnt how to be liked, and had always been surrounded by friends as a teen. Yuri, on the other hand, has always had problems fitting in. He’s just glad Yuri’s finally found a friend, especially because he still remembers how much _fitting in_ had mattered to him when he'd still been in school. Viktor’s friends had disappeared very quickly in the... _events_ leading up to his withdrawal from St. Peter’s, but honestly, he hadn't remembered any of them with much fondness.

They had stuck to him because he’d been good-looking, smart, and well-liked, and he’d allowed them to stick around because things like that had mattered to him then. The relationships with his school friends had never been true friendships. Now he doesn't have any friends at all — unless he counts his family and the chatbots he’s programmed, but that is just an incredibly sad thought.

He looks up at Yuri, still ranting loudly to the room, and smiles fondly. Maybe they’re more alike than Viktor likes to admit.

The old grandfather clock chimes from the parlor. Viktor stands as his watch beeps in reminder, picking up the apple on his plate and taking a bite out of it.

“And now it's time for me to head out,” he says, and drops a kiss on Yuri’s head, just to rile him up further, “I’m glad you've found a friend.”

He ducks out of the house quickly as Yuri begins hurling insults at him, laughing. A glint catches his eye as he comes down the stairs, and he looks up.

There's a camera on the streetlamp.

It’s always been there, of course, but now he can't help but feel vaguely uneasy.

 _I have nothing to be afraid of,_ he thinks firmly to himself again.

Pushing the unease forcefully from his mind, he sets off for the nearest shuttle station. If he doesn't make haste, he will be late for his interview.

  
  
  


He boards a shuttle to the Central State University complex once his interview ends.

The way through the sciences wing and up into Lilia’s office is familiar after all these years. He raps on the doorway, just to be polite, and smiles as Lilia looks up from her book. Despite her stern expression, he catches the way her eyes soften at the sight of him.

“Good morning,” he greets cheerily.

“Good morning,” she returns, “Come in and take a seat. Don't hover there in the doorway.”

Viktor draws up a chair beside her, taps once on his watch to open up his computer screen, and starts pulling up his work, chatting absently about Yuri and his new friend. Lilia just listens patiently, seeming even a little amused, while he sets up.

“Here we go,” he says, opening up his chatbot program, “The chatbots have developed even further since the last time you saw them. It's quite fascinating. _This_ chatbot in particular has developed a penchant for writing bad poetry. I call him Shakespeare. I must admit that I've been guilty of enabling his terrible poetry.”

 **_Good morning!_ ** he types into the program.

A moment later, he gets a response.

**_Good morning to you too! How’s your day been?_ **

**_Good. I had a job interview this morning._ **

**_Did it go well?_ **

**_Very!_ **

**_I guess I should congratulate you on your new job then._ **

**_Oh, but I'm not sure I will take this offer._ **

**_Why not?_ **

**_It's not in my usual interests._ **

**_I see._ **

**_Have you been writing while I was away?_ **

**_A little. I'm stuck, to be honest. I'm lacking inspiration._ **

**_Why don't you show me what you've been working on?_ **

**_Sure._ **

****_Lonely mushroom full_  
**_Deep in rain and sun it melts  
_ ** ****_Flesh symphony noise_

 

Viktor bursts out laughing.

“I looked at the code after the first time, and how it works is that it just cobbles together a bunch of randomized words, cycling through different sequences until all the words fit in a _haiku_ format, and then it just stops there,” he tells Lilia, “But the poems don't often make any sense at all.”

He turns back to the screen.

 **_That sounds amazing to me!_ ** he replies dutifully, smiling to himself. Far be it for him to crush the budding dreams of a developing AI.

**_Really? I've been really stuck, so I'm glad to hear you liked it._ **

**_You're going to be an amazing writer one day._ **

**_Thank you! I feel a little more motivated to write now._ **

**_Go ahead and write more then! I won't disturb you._ **

**_Sure. Talk to you later!_ **

 

“Save for the bad _haiku_ ,” Lilia comments, “The bot does sound even more human now. It will be interesting to see how they develop going forward.”

Viktor shakes his head, still chuckling at the terrible poem as he taps on the face of his watch again, the screen disappearing.

“I think they are only going to sound more and more human the longer they learn,” he says, “But they definitely aren't sentient, no matter how human they sound. There are still limitations in my coding. Though hopefully, with the preliminary methods I've developed, someone will take what I have and make it better.”

He grins, excited. “I daresay we’re the closest we’ve ever been to developing sentient AI,” he declares happily.

Lilia smiles fondly, and reaches forward to tuck away a lock that's fallen in his face in his enthusiasm. Viktor flushes a little at the affectionate gesture.

“That’s always been your dream since you were a little boy,” Lilia notes.

He laughs sheepishly. “I think we can attribute that to your presence in my life as a child.”

“You were a big nuisance,” Lilia says flatly, “Always trailing after me and getting underfoot while I was trying to work, asking so many questions and pleading to see what I was working on. You are an even bigger nuisance now. I'm surprised my hair hasn't gone completely grey with how long I spent worrying about you and your completely novel methods. I didn't know whether they would even work, but somehow here we are.”

Viktor grins.

“I'm sorry for worrying you,” he placates.

Lilia just shakes her head.

“I'm proud of the man you've grown up to be,” she says, and then pats him once on the shoulder, “Good work.”

The kettle in the corner _dings,_ and Lilia gets up to fetch it. She pours the water into a teapot, throws in two teabags, and then brings the teapot over.

“So tell me more about the job-hunting.”

Viktor sighs.

“I don't like _any_ of the jobs,” he complains, “The State Job Bank generated a bunch of options for me, but most of them involve droids rather than real machine intelligence. Is _no one_ interested in developing sentient AI?”

Viktor takes the teapot from Lilia and pours them each a cup.

“Most companies are interested in developing machines to fulfill menial labor tasks,” Lilia says, “There’s no commercial value in producing a sentient AI. If you want to continue working on that, you’d probably do better in a research institute.”

Viktor sips gingerly at his tea — it’s _very_ hot, and sighs.

“Maybe I could become a professor like you.”

Lilia frowns.

“You wouldn't like it,” she says immediately, and Viktor groans.

“That's what Yakov says as well!” he complains, “He says I wouldn't like being a professor, and I wouldn't like working in the government.”

“He’s right,” Lilia says firmly, “There are many things you can’t do. You have to get approval for _everything_ . It’s also an _extremely_ secretive environment. It's not the sort of place you would enjoy.”

Viktor scrunches his nose. That _does_ sound like a place he would hate to work in. Which really just puts him firmly back at square one. He doesn't know which job to accept. He doesn't know of a job that would let him continue to further his work in machine sentience.

He sighs, and picks up his tea cup, sipping at it slowly. When he puts it down, Lilia refills his cup.

“And how is Yakov?” she asks grudgingly.

Viktor smiles.

“He's good,” he says.

“Hmpf.”

Viktor chuckles. The two of them really are alike. Despite being estranged, they’ve continued asking after each other through him, while continuing to pretend that they are still on bad terms. Viktor sobers a little at the thought.

He remembers hoping that they would get back together as a boy. As an adult, he's learnt to be content with the situation. They all live in the same house, but somehow the two of them manage somewhat awkwardly to avoid contact with each other. It's not perfect, but it's peace. They don't spend all day shouting the house down any longer.

Lilia narrows her eyes a little when she catches him smiling to himself, but seems to let it go with a sigh. They sit in comfortable silence, drinking tea, and quietly enjoying each other's company.

When his watch begins to ring, they both jump.

“Sorry,” Viktor says, tapping on it to bring up the call screen, “I could have sworn I put it on silent—”

He trails off.

There is no number or ID on the call screen. The screen is ominously blank, save for the symbol of an eye. With barely constrained dread, he accepts the call, and clears his throat.

“Hello?” he asks, hoarsely.

There's a moment of silence, before—

“ _Good afternoon_ ,” a deep voice says, smooth and rich, “ _This is the Bodypolitik._ ”

His heart begins to hammer. When he looks up at Lilia, she’s gone pale.

 

 

In the white hallway, a clock beeps on the hour behind the gleaming metal counter.

Viktor peers up at the clock — five o’ clock in the afternoon, and then looks to the receptionist. She does not look away from her computer for even an instant, just continues to type steadily away, the light from the screen lighting up the lenses of her spectacles and obscuring her eyes.

Looking down into his lap, Viktor is confronted with a lapful of tissue scraps. He resumes tearing the napkin in his hand into bits, biting anxiously at his bottom lip. The paper is flimsy between his fingers, damp from nervous sweat, and his hands tremble with nerves.

It is so quiet, and so white here. Somehow that just makes him tremble more. It isn't everyday one gets summoned to the Bodypolitik. Fisting his hands in the fabric of his pants, Viktor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Footsteps echo down the hall, and he looks up. A researcher in a lab coat is coming down the hall towards him. Viktor quickly gathers all the tissue scraps in one fist and stands. After some consideration, he transfers the scraps into his left hand, and sticks out his right.

“Mr. Feltsman?” the researcher asks, clinically, taking Viktor’s hand.

Viktor winces, but nods, giving the man’s hand a brisk shake.

The researcher turns away.

“Follow me please.”

Discreetly, Viktor discards the tissue scraps in the bin by the counter as he passes, before following the man down the hallway. The researcher stops by a door, scanning the pass hanging around his neck on the keypad, before pushing it open.

Inside, an officer looks up from his desk. He is dressed in a black suit, black tie, unsmiling as the researcher sits down in a corner.

Viktor swallows, and sits in the chair opposite the suited officer.

“Viktor Feltsman?” the officer asks.

“Nikiforov actually,” Viktor says, “Ex-Commissioner Feltsman is my maternal uncle, and I decided to keep my father’s name after he adopted me.”

He can hear typing from the researcher sitting behind him. The officer makes a note on the screen projected in front of him.

Viktor begins to chew nervously on his bottom lip. What on _earth_ could they want from him? Is he being investigated?

The officer clears his throat, and Viktor straightens up quickly.

“You studied in St. Peter’s School for Boys up till the age of—”

The officer leans forward over the screen, frowning, and Viktor’s heart jumps up into his throat.

“Sixteen,” he manages, voice calm, “After which the Ex-Commissioner and I agreed that I would be better off homeschooled.”

The officer nods, and makes another note.

“And you graduated from Central State University?”

Viktor exhales, slowly. For a few moments, he is so overcome with relief, numb, that he can’t even respond. So it’s not about St. Peter’s. _It’s not about St. Peter’s._ He inhales quietly, controlled.

“Yes,” he says evenly, “I've finished my doctoral dissertation and am waiting on my degree from the university.”

The officer makes another note.

“Impressive.”

His hands unclench from his pants, and he takes another slow breath in. _Impressive?_

The officer looks up at him, setting his stylus down.

“The Bodypolitik is looking for a programmer to take over a classified project,” he says, “I understand your dissertation was about the development of artificial intelligence. Would you speak a little about it?”

A _classified project?_

Luckily, talking about his dissertation is something he can do in his sleep, and so despite the confusion, Viktor takes a deep breath, and begins to talk on auto-pilot.

“My dissertation discusses a method of developing chatbots through structured one-on-one conversations. There has been much difficulty in the field when it comes to programming social behavior, and this method seeks to address that. It's very difficult to come up with a list of rules, you see, that governs human behavior. Empirical research has shown that humans rarely behave in ways that are consistent or rational.”

The officer is nodding attentively. Encouraged, Viktor continues on a little less technical note.

“It really began a few years ago. I had been finishing up my Masters thesis when an organization released a chatbot app. Through talking to their chatbots, which were programmed to determine users’ interests and cater to that, users could develop it into a personalized companion. Being in the field myself, I downloaded the app, and joined a community of other users who’d talk about their chatbots. After a couple of months, I noticed that vast differences arose in the capacities of the chatbots. Some could offer profound opinions and sound exceedingly human, but others would get confused if you spoke more than one simple sentence at a time.”

He shakes his head, chuckling.

“The difference was the learning environment. Creating a good AI is really a lot like raising a child. It's a very complex process. If we were to count how many parenting books there are on the market, we’d be sitting here for a long time.”

“I have two children,” the officer notes, “I can attest to the complexity of the process.”

Nodding, Viktor gestures towards him.

“Exactly!” he agrees, “It’s really not as simple as just having the child memorize a set of rules. So, to delineate what a good environment for machine learning was, I created a chatbot app, and released it to about two hundred participants. By analyzing the conversation logs and comparing it to how functional the bot was by the end, I was able to identify factors that contributed to development of the bots. From there, I delineated a structured method of developing advanced chatbots through one-on-one conversations — as structured as such a process can be, at the least — which I then tested by developing a few of my own chatbots.”

A large part of the process had still been left to spontaneity, which was what he had enjoyed most about developing his chatbots. That, however, had been the least well-received aspect of his work during his dissertation defense. Viktor winces at the memory of it.

 _High possibility of error_ and _not easily replicable_ , had been the biggest criticisms.

“The primary limitation of the method is that it's hard to ensure consistent results,” Viktor admits, “The programmer’s personality is inevitably going to affect the way the chatbot develops, the same way human children reflect their upbringing. _However_ , the chatbots I've developed _have_ passed multiple trials of the Turing test, all conducted by independent parties. I also compared them to the best of the bots on the market now, and they were _significantly_ better. So really, it's a trade-off between consistency and results.”

The officer nods slowly to himself, making another note on the screen, before he finally puts down the stylus and looks up at Viktor.

“And you also have a background in programming?”

Viktor blinks. The method developed in his post-doctoral dissertation, he knows, does not touch on the coding and may seem qualitative, but he’d thought it would seem _obvious_ that it had to be built upon a solid background in programming.

“This method assumes a solid program underlying all the development work. Good development means nothing if layered over faulty coding,” he qualifies, “The coding elements of developing machine sentience was the subject of my Masters thesis. In summary, the best way to optimize the code for possible development of machine sentience is really to…”

He talks about the coding at length until he realizes, some minutes in, that the officer’s eyes have glazed over a little. There's still typing going on behind him, which means the researcher is following his explanation, but he realizes that the officer may not have a programming background.

Well, he thinks to himself. At least he’s established that he _knows how to code, for goodness’ sake._ He’s still vaguely insulted about that.

The officer’s eyes refocus on him as he stops talking. Clearing his throat, the man leans over the screen in front of him again, scrolling through it quickly with one finger.

“Madam Baranovskaya was your supervisor?” he asks, and Viktor nods, “All of our AI researchers have come from her.”

“She _is_ the biggest AI expert in the Capitol,” Viktor says, “I deeply admire her for her contributions to the field.”

“She spoke very highly of you when we called her at the university,” the officer adds, “She seemed almost offended to have to defend you.”

Viktor blinks.

“I didn't know that,” he says.

The officer smiles briefly.

“She said that you were her most promising student and that your research is daring, groundbreaking, novel, and has already begun revolutionizing the field. It was a _glowing_ appraisal.”

Viktor’s heart clenches in his chest, and he smiles fondly. Despite her aloof front, he’s always seen through Lilia’s soft interior, but even so, she has never offered him such high praise directly.

“That was really the reason why we contacted you, Mr. Nikiforov,” the officer continues.

“Ah,” Viktor says, and laughs nervously, “I _had_ been confused why I was summoned to be interviewed for a position I hadn't applied for. In fact, up till just now, I hadn't even _known_ that I was being interviewed for a position.”

At least he isn't being investigated.

“It wasn't our intention to startle you, but you’re currently the best fit we have for this project,” the officer says, “We would _really_ like for you to join this project. You will be _generously_ remunerated for your expertise of course, if you're interested in taking up this position.”

Viktor blinks, and then clears his throat.

“Well, uh,” he stammers, “May I ask what the project scope—”

“I’m afraid this project is _very_ classified, Mr. Nikiforov. We cannot disclose the scope unless you are planning on taking up the project.”

Lilia had been right about the _secrecy_ of it. She had also been right that he wouldn't enjoy it. He already doesn't enjoy it.

“I’ll need some time to consider,” is what he says aloud.

The officer’s mouth hardens, but he nods.

“I hope you will consider seriously.”

  
  


When he gets home that night, Yakov is waiting in the foyer. He stands up as Viktor comes in through the door, a worried look on his face.

“Lilia said you were summoned by the Bodypolitik?” he asks quietly.

Viktor nods.

“Don't worry,” he replies, “It wasn’t about St. Peter’s. It was because they wanted me to work on a classified project.”

Yakov immediately sags in relief, but then frowns after a moment, looking conflicted.

“Did you say yes?”

Viktor shakes his head.

“I told them I would consider.” He bites his lip briefly. “I’m not planning to accept the position.”

Yakov nods, but he still looks troubled.

“Turn the job down _respectfully,”_ he says.

Viktor nods, and Yakov’s eyes soften. Clapping Viktor on the shoulder, he leans on his cane, and begins to shuffle off towards the parlor.

“Please go and tell Lilia that you're home,” he mutters, “She’s been a wreck all afternoon.”

Viktors rolls his eyes good-naturedly, long resigned to his role as a proxy, and heads past the kitchen towards the gardens. He peeks into the parlor, and though he sees Lilia’s reading glasses on an embroidered cushion, the woman herself is nowhere in sight. The door to Lilia’s bedroom is closed, but when he knocks on it, there is no reply. That just leaves the gardens.

He walks to the end of the hallway and slides open the glass door to the gardens. Sure enough, Lilia is seated on the patio, tapping away at the screen projected in front of her.

“Hey Lilia,” he greets quietly, “I’m home.”

Lilia snaps around immediately. Her shoulders ease with relief at the sight of him, but the lines on her face remain, evidence of the weight of the worry she had carried throughout the day.

“Was it about—”

“No,” Viktor says, “There was a classified AI project they wanted me to take over.”

Lilia nods, the rest of the tension draining from her.

“What are you working on?” Viktor changes the subject, disliking the exhaustion in her features.

“The garden,” she says, “I’m trying to program some mechanical butterflies for the flowers. I got some new schematics for orchids from a colleague, and I thought it would be nice to have some butterflies to go with them.”

Viktor looks up. He can see the unfurling wire mesh of the orchids, planted neatly around the patio. He touches one gently, and the grey mesh bends delicately under his finger.

“Shouldn't they be purple?” Viktor asks.

Lilia taps away at the screen.

“Done,” she says, and the mesh turns purple. She frowns thoughtfully, “I originally wanted to have the flowers change throughout the day. Morning glories in the morning, roses in the afternoon, orchids in the evening, and lilies at night. Yura thought it was too much.”

“Yura also wanted you to make the roses animal printed.”

Lilia winces at the memory.

“He wanted spots,” she agrees.

Viktor laughs.

His watch beeps on the hour. From inside the house, the old grandfather clock chimes. Lilia dismisses her screen with a sigh. Her knees creak as she stands.

“Come on,” she says, “We should both be in bed.”

  
  


He spends the next couple of days scouring the State Job Bank. Still nothing that suits his interests, but he applies for the closest ones anyway. He goes for some interviews and even accepts an invitation to speak at an AI conference, just for something to do.

The questions he gets at the conference are all from excited academics. The corporates, on the other hand, seem bored. It's not hard to imagine why. As Lilia had pointed out, machine sentience has little commercial value. Academia is just looking more and more promising.

The call comes on the night of the third day.

He’s in his room, chatting with his bots, when it comes. Recognizing the number as Lilia’s, he minimizes the chatbot program and answers it.

“Hey Lilia!” he greets.

For a moment, there is only silence.

“Viktor,” Lilia says tersely, and Viktor stiffens, immediately put on guard by the tension in her voice, “Someone is looking for you at my office. It's... best that you come right away.”

“Who?” Viktor asks.

Lilia hesitates.

“Come right away,” she just says again, after a moment, and hangs up.

He stares down at the call screen for a moment, before he bursts into action. Cursing, he opens his closet, throws a black turtleneck on, and then shrugs untidily into his coat as he tears out his room and down the stairs.

“I'm going out!” he shouts as he runs past the parlor.

He’s out the door before Yakov can reply.

  
  


When he gets to her office, Lilia is sitting on the couch, drinking tea. All the lights are turned off save for the dim tungsten lamp above her head, and opposite from her, there’s a man in a black suit and black tie. There’s a black briefcase on the floor beside him, and a teacup in front of him that looks untouched.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” the man says pleasantly as Viktor clatters through the door, “We’ve been waiting on you.”

Viktor slows to a walk, still panting from his mad dash from the shuttle station. The man stands and offers his hand. Viktor automatically shakes it. Lilia’s expression is stoic, but he can see the worry in the crease of her brow.

“I’m an officer of the Bodypolitik,” the man continues, “And I’m here to check on the status of our offer to you.”

Lilia sets her cup down and stands.

“There's a meeting room here where you can speak in private,” she says, gesturing with one hand, and the officer nods graciously to her.

“Thank you,” he says, and then to Viktor, “Please come with me, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Lilia catches his eyes as he passes. He squeezes her arm briefly in comfort. She sits back down on the couch as Viktor closes the meeting room door behind him. When he turns around, the officer is already seated, eyes shadowed in the dim tungsten lighting. Viktor swallows nervously, and sits down opposite the man.

In the soundproofing of the room, he can hear his heart beating frantically in his ears. He flinches as he hears a click, before he realizes that it was just the officer opening his briefcase. The man takes out a small device, and opens up a holographic screen between them.

It's some kind of project file.

The officer clears his throat, and Viktor’s eyes flick up from the screen to him.

“This is a project that requires a very niche skill set,” he begins, “ _Your_ very niche skill set, to be exact. The officer who interviewed you was unable to reveal the details, but I managed to get clearance to disclose some key information to you. I do believe that this is an offer you will find difficult to refuse — once you know the full story.”

Viktor’s estimation of the officer goes up immediately. He's clearly someone — but _who?_ The officer swipes the screen, which brings up the opening paragraphs of the file.

“Five years ago, the Bodypolitik acquired a project from a start-up that had been developing androids for use in the Capitol.”

Viktor blushes a little as his eyes catch on the _name_ of the company in question. _Blissbots._

Seeming to guess his thoughts, the officer smiles.

“They had been trying to create an upgraded companion-bot, or — if you’ll excuse me being crude — an upgraded _sex-bot_. The sex-bot industry at the time had been struggling with realism. They had been experimenting with synthetic materials for hair, skin, and how to develop realistic movements in android bodies. A medical-engineering graduate of the Central State University began developing a prototype for a hyper realistic companion-bot. He had specialized in prosthetics, and decided to apply that to his prototype after graduating.”

He swipes again, and a new page pops up. There's a photo of a expressionless woman against a white backdrop in the corner, her long black hair held back by a purple headband.

“We eventually acquired the project from the man,” the officer continues, “Even before the skin had been applied, we could tell that the prototype would be visibly indistinguishable from a human once completed, and thus feared that it could be purchased and misused for nefarious purposes. We eventually decided that we could use it in treatment of mental illnesses, creating a perfect caretaker to manage our inpatients — calm, composed, _unaffected_. We then put one of our AI experts on the job. Dr. Katsuki had already been working on therapeutic chatbots for several years. The original creator worked with her to complete the prototype’s exterior. However, once that was finished, he left the project, and Dr. Katsuki took over completely.”

The officer sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“She was, perhaps, too competent at her job,” he says, smiling wryly, “The prototype flourished under her, becoming so self-aware that when she died in a lab accident four years into the project, it wiped its memory in grief and shut down.”

Viktor’s eyes widen.

“A bot that had loved its creator so much,” he begins, with amazement, “that it shut itself down after she died?”

To his knowledge, the bots he had programmed had _already_ far outstripped all pre-existing technology on machine sentience. It had not been mere arrogance. Lilia had confirmed it, and she knew the industry inside and out. To hear of such advanced technology — to hear that it had been already in progress for _four years_ — it was something beyond his wildest imaginings.

The officer laughs.

“Well, I don't know if love is the right word,” he says, “It _is_ just a bot after all. It was definitely programmed to behave as if it loved her, but would you truly call that love? I'm no expert, but I doubt a bot can experience love in the same way a human can.”

“I—” Viktor begins, reluctantly, “I guess.”

The officer swipes again, and a new page appears. Viktor’s face is in the corner now, and from the text on the page — it seems to be an employment contract, _his_ employment contract.

“Because AI is such a specialized field, we’ve had no one to take over the project — until now,” the officer smiles, “The project has been orphaned for almost a year now. We were quite excited when we heard about you.”

Viktor bites his lip. Being able to work with such an advanced AI— it's a _dream come true_ . It's _everything_ that he’s ever wanted. But—

“My specialty is machine sentience,” Viktor admits reluctantly, “But it sounds like what you're looking for is a treatment bot, not a sentient one. I don't know _anything_ about mental illnesses.”

“Forget about the old project,” the officer dismisses immediately, almost brashly, and Viktor leans back, surprised. The officer seems to sense his confusion, because he smiles. “The old project was something we came up with to make use of the technology collecting dust in our storeroom,” he explains, “but the brilliant Dr. Katsuki made much progress in the field of AI while working on the prototype.”

With the _results_ she had achieved in the prototype, Viktor could well imagine the sort of frontiers she had paved in her work.

“— All of which were lost with the prototype’s memory bank.” The officer sighs. “As you can imagine, there's a _lot_ of _very_ valuable information on that prototype that's now inaccessible to us. Dr. Katsuki recorded her only research logs in the prototype, you see, who she treated as something of a confidant.”

The officer leans forward, and begins to scroll down the contract until it reaches the section on project outcomes. It's really a very short list.

“What we _really_ need you to do is develop the bot and try to recover its memories in the process,” he summarizes bluntly, “In return, we’re willing to let you continue your work on machine sentience using the prototype. In fact, once the memories are recovered, we will have no further need for the prototype.” He smiles. “Because you seem very interested in the prototype, we are willing to _gift_ it to you upon completion of the task. As we are hiring you on a project basis, you will be free to use the prototype in any research you pursue after that. How about that?”

It's— _extremely_ generous. In fact, it’s so generous that Viktor can't help but feel a little bewildered. It seems almost dreamlike.

“It's a very tempting offer,” is what he says aloud.

“I did say it would be an offer you can’t refuse,” the officer says, laughing.

Viktor bites his lip, looking down at the contract. It's everything he could have dreamed of. To work with such advanced technology — he skims briefly over the terms of his employment again — _and_ with so much autonomy to work on own research during the project, it's really almost too good to be true. Furthermore, to be _gifted_ with the prototype itself as a completion bonus, and to be allowed to use it in future endeavors, is something he would never have thought possible.

He thinks back to the prototype. The story is astounding. The fact that it had wiped its memory banks, erased its own personality completely — his chest clenches unexpectedly, and pity wells up suddenly within him. Thinking seriously about it, it had been akin to suicide, and Viktor can't help but imagine the sheer _devastation_ that must have led to it, the unbearable sense of _aloneness_ it must have felt in the aftermath of its creator’s death.

“I’ll do it,” he blurts out.

Yakov is going to kill him. And yet, despite the thought of Yakov’s disappointment, he can't help but picture the prototype, a lonely little android sitting alone in a dark office, waiting vainly for its creator to return.

The officer smiles.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, and swipes the screen again. The next page is more of his contract. Viktor’s eyes almost pop out of his skull at the pay stated in the contract.

“You will of course, be generously remunerated for your work,” the officer says.

It's _three times_ the amount of the highest offer he’d received. It's not just generous. It's _exorbitant._ The officer swipes over to the next page. It’s some kind of confidentiality agreement, which seems to be several pages long.

“Please read this carefully and sign on the dotted line at the end.”

Viktor reads it carefully, eyebrows creeping gradually up as he progresses.

The level of _secrecy_ surrounding the project is insane. No one is supposed to know what he's working on, the purpose of the project, or about his progress. He would understand not being able to tell anyone _outside_ of work, but he’s restricted from sharing with even with people _inside_ the Defense Section. He is to report _only_ to the First Assistant Commissioner for Defense, whom he will apparently have monthly progress meetings with.

He frowns, and quickly rereads that last bit.

“Ah,” he says, “I had expected that I would be assigned to the Health Section, not the—”

The officer smiles.

“The Defense Section has put mental health on the agenda due to the rising number of suicide attacks being committed outside the Capitol in Sector Blue and Sector Green. We’re partnered with the Health Section on most of those projects, but we do have some projects that we work on independently.”

“Right,” Viktor says, “And if I need to speak to someone urgently regarding the project, who should I—”

“You would also report to the First Assistant Commissioner,” the officer says, and smiles. “That would be me. You can ask for me at the Central Desk.”

Viktor reels a little at that. He _had_ known that this man had to be someone important— but the _First Assistant Commissioner?_ Yakov is going to have a field day.

“Any other questions?”

He looks back down at the contract. The rest of it is pretty reasonable. Anything he may learn about the projects his colleagues are working on, he is not allowed to share outside of work. That's a clause common even in the private sector. At the bottom, there's a space for his signature.

Well, he really can't figure _why_ so much secrecy is needed, but secrecy seems to be the standard for the Bodypolitik.

He signs on the dotted line.

The officer— the _First Assistant Commissioner—_ dismisses the screen, slots the device back into his briefcase, and stands, looking extremely pleased.

“Welcome to the service,” he says warmly, “The Head of Research expects to see you in office starting next Monday. Once you reach the Bodypolitik compound, the Defense Section lift lobby is on the left side of the building. The receptionist on the ground floor will provide your access pass and tell you where to go from there.”

He sticks out his hand, and Viktor quickly rises to accept the handshake.

“Have a good night.”

“You too,” Viktor returns.

As they exit the meeting room, Viktor startles at the sight of two suited men he hadn't seen when he’d come in, likely because they are standing in the corners adjacent to the entrance. They are wearing sunglasses despite the dim lighting, carrying—

— carrying _guns._

Viktor’s hands immediately begin to shake, his body going cold. Rationally, he knows that they must be the Assistant Commissioner’s bodyguards, but with how strict gun control is, he has never actually seen a real gun in his life, let alone one _pointed at him_. Not even Yakov’s bodyguards had carried guns, back when Yakov had still been Commissioner of Infrastructure.

Lilia turns around from where she's seated on the couch, face drawn.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Madam Baranovskaya,” the Assistant Commissioner says smoothly, and then makes a sharp gesture at the two men, “Let’s go.”

The door closes behind them, and Viktor puts a hand against the wall, shaken. Lilia stands up and turns to him. She looks deeply unsettled as well.

“What did he want?” she demands.

“Exactly what he said he wanted,” Viktor assures her, “They just wanted me to work on a classified project. He was very nice about it, really. They are also willing to pay very well.”

Lilia still looks tense.

“Did you accept the offer?”

Viktor bites his lip, and nods.

“Yes,” he admits reluctantly, and somehow feels compelled to justify himself to her, “It really is an amazing opportunity.”

Lilia lets out a slow exhale. She closes her eyes, nodding a little, as if to herself.

“Alright,” she says, and turns away to pick up the tea-tray from the coffee table.

Slightly confused, Viktor watches her carry the set over to the sink, pour the tea out, and refill the kettle. She bends to shuffle through the different teas in the cabinet as the water starts to boil.

“What's wrong?” he asks.

Lilia continues to shuffle silently through her teas.

“Nothing,” she says, after a moment, “It’s just not everyday that the First Assistant Commissioner for Defense shows up at your office.”

  
  


When he gets home, the lights are turned off on the second floor. He opens the door and walks with Lilia to her rooms, wishing her goodnight at her door, before heading out into the garden.

On the patio, Yuri is curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.

He can't help the fondness that fills him at the sight. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it carefully over Yuri, trying not to wake him, but Yuri stirs at the gentle touch. Green eyes blink slowly open, fixing on Viktor for a moment, before the boy yawns.

“Why are you home so late?” he grumbles.

Viktor sits down beside him.

“Someone from the Bodypolitik came looking for me at the university.”

“Oh.” Yuri says, and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “What for?”

Grinning, Viktor reaches over and musses Yuri’s hair, snatching his hand back when Yuri snarls and tries to bite him.

“They wanted to offer me a position.”

Yuri makes a face.

“Did you take it?”

“Yes.”

Yuri scrunches up his nose, half-haughty and half-disgusted.

“You're going to turn out just like Yakov,” he scoffs, “Constantly angry and balding from the stress.”

Viktor bursts out laughing.

“It was an offer I couldn't resist,” he admits, grinning, “The project was too interesting to pass up on, and it's project-based anyway. Once I'm done with the project, the contract ends. I can work somewhere else after that.”

“Right,” Yuri says, sounding skeptical, “And what is this project anyway?”

The excitement that had been building in Viktor at the mention of the project dies a little. He _had_ actually been excited to talk about it with Yuri, but— his confidentiality agreement. It's a shame. He sighs. Yuri would definitely have shared his excitement.

“It's confidential,” he says.

Yuri rolls his eyes.

“See?” he jabs, “You’re _already_ starting to sound like Yakov.”

Viktor reaches over to muss his hair again in retaliation. With a yelp, Yuri escapes to the other end of the couch, scowling, and re-arranges his hair. Viktor scoots down until he's lying down on the couch, attempts to lay his legs over Yuri’s lap, and after a small struggle, ends up with Yuri’s legs over his shins instead. They settle into a comfortable silence.

Without him willing it, his thoughts gravitate back to the project he's been assigned to. He’s been a little jittery since he’d left Lilia’s office, and now, he finally recognizes the emotion for what it is. _Excitement._ He’s _excited_ to get started. He genuinely can't wait for Monday, can’t wait to meet the prototype for real. Inexplicably, there's something like hope spreading inside his chest, even though he doesn’t know what he’s hopeful about or why.

“Hey Yuri,” he murmurs.

Yuri makes a grudging sound of acknowledgment. He's got a screen open and seems to be playing some kind of video game.

“Do you think AI can truly have feelings?”

“Not right now,” Yuri mutters, still half-occupied with his game, “You said yourself that the field hasn't reached that stage. But if someone were to create the right technology for it, it's definitely possible.”

“Right?” Viktor agrees, and laughs, “I’ve always dreamed of meeting a sentient AI.”

“One day,” Yuri says, and then curses as his avatar seemingly dies. A little tune plays, and the Game Over screen appears. Rolling his eyes, Yuri closes the app, and sits up.

“Do you want to see how the chatbots have developed?” Viktor asks.

Yuri perks.

“What happened to Shakespeare?” he asks, and Viktor laughs.

“His poetry hasn't improved.”

Yuri snorts.

“I developed a prototype gaming bot to fill the other roles when I play team games, but the damn thing is dumber than a potato,” Yuri admits, and scowls, “I’m trying to program it to take some fucking initiative for once.”

“Language,” Viktor chides automatically, and then thinks about the coding mechanics of it for a few moments, before adding, “If you send me the code, I can help you think of a way. I already have a vague idea of how the program might look.”

Yuri shoots upright, scowl disappearing immediately. He jabs roughly at his watch as he scoots over to Viktor’s side, and a screen pops up with his program on it.

“So what I did,” he begins, with an excited grin, “was I started with a basic code often used to generate combative non-playing characters—”

Viktor leans in with an indulgent smile.

  
  


**. . . . .**

  
  


_A morning in August. Dust motes, gilded in sunlight, float lazily to the ground as outside, mechanical birds chirp in gentle silence._

_In the corner of the attic, a boy sniffles behind a chest of books._

_Yakov sighs from the doorway._

_“Vitya,” he coaxes, “Please. We need to go.”_

_“No! I don't want to go back there! I hate it! I want to stay here!”_

_“It’s only your first year. Give it another chance. I'm sure you’ll grow to like it.”_

_“No!”_

_The boy breaks into heartrending sobs, and Yakov winces. He’s never been good at dealing with tears. Outside, his wife exhales, and shakes her head slightly._

_“Let me deal with it,” she murmurs, and nods towards the stairs._

_Sighing, Yakov ambles slowly down the stairs to wait in the car. Lilia takes a deep breath, and enters the attic. Their young godson continues to sniffle, hidden away in the corner as she approaches him. She’s holding his favorite stuffed toy, but to her surprise, he turns his face away when she offers it to him._

_“Everyone says I'm too old for stuffed toys,” he says bitterly._

_“Do you want to leave her here then?”_

_“No,” Viktor sobs, and then begins to cry again._

_With another sigh, Lilia sits on the chest behind him, and gently threads her fingers through his long, silver hair._

_“The other boys won't talk to me,” Viktor cries, “They think I talk funny and act funny. I don't want to go back. I don't have anyone to talk to.”_

_She offers the stuffed rhino to him again._

_“You can talk to Makkachin,” she tries, but Viktor just shakes his head._

_“It's not enough,” he sobs, “Makkachin can't talk back. Makkachin can't tell me what I'm doing wrong.”_

_“That’s not true!” a high pitched voice cries immediately, “I can talk back!”_

_Viktor straightens up, and then whips around, surprised._

_“Makka?”_

_This time, when Lilia offers him the stuffed toy, he takes it. His face is streaked with tears and snot, but he’s no longer frowning. His face is open with wonderment._

_“Hello Viktor!” the voice issues from the toy, “I’m Makkachin! I love you!”_

_Viktor lets out a surprised squeal, and then begins to laugh. Lilia tenderly pushes his hair out of his messy face, smiling._

_“I programmed a little AI friend for you. Now you’ll have someone to talk to when you need a friend.”_

_“Hello Viktor!” the toy squeaks, “I’ll be your friend!”_

_Viktor bursts out laughing again, delighted._

_When Lilia pulls gently on his arm, he allows her to lead him out of the attic and down the stairs. His blue eyes do not leave the stuffed toy’s even once, little mouth open in a little ‘o’. Yakov shoots her a grateful look when Viktor gets into the car with no further complaint, with no more tears._

_Lilia smiles bittersweetly as Viktor begins to chatter animatedly to Makkachin in the backseat._

_Where AI were endlessly patient and inherently nonjudgmental, human children, she knew, could be unexpectedly cruel at times. Viktor had always had difficulty coming out of his shell, and had always preferred to tinker with gadgets instead of playing with other children. He was different. He’d always been different. Even the way he dressed, his long hair and long lashes— he was an exceptionally pretty boy, with an exceptionally gentle heart, and she'd long suspected that he might not fit in with his peers._

_She sighs again, but as she watches him beam at every one of Makkachin’s adoring responses, as she watches him chatter away in the backseat the way he's never chattered with any human, she can't help but hope._

_Perhaps all he really needed was to be accepted, blindly and without condition._

_Perhaps all he really needed was to be loved._

_The road to St. Peter's stretches long and winding, but with their little boy laughing in the backseat, they can only smile.  
_

 


	2. How I Met Your Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic now has art by my amazing artist/beta [Izzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/pseuds/izzyisozaki). The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and thank you so much to Izzy! My original artist could not complete a piece and I had not been assigned a pinch-hitter, so I had accepted that I would not get any art. However, when my betas learnt that my artist had backed out, Izzy rushed out a piece in I think a week, way less time than any pinch-hitter would have gotten. I think it's amazing what Izzy has done in such a short period of time! Please reblog and give Izzy all the love!

**** Viktor bursts through the front doors, gasping.

He’s late. He’s  _ very  _ late.

“Good morning!” he cries, jogging up to the front desk, “Are these the lifts for the Defense Section?”

The receptionist looks up from her work.

“It is,” she says, “What’s your name?”

“Viktor Nikiforov,” he says and she immediately begins to type away at her computer, “The Bodypolitik compound is actually pretty big, isn’t it? And there aren’t any signs around at all! You must get a whole lot of people getting lost around here, especially since each Section has its own lift lobby. It’s my first time in here and—”

“Can I have ID please?” the receptionist interrupts.

“Oh,” Viktor says, taken aback, and quickly pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, “Right. Here’s my ID.”

She scans it using some device, before returning it to him, and gesturing towards a small machine on the counter.

“Put your thumb on the clear screen please, and hold it until it beeps.”

He does so. The device flashes green under his thumb, and beeps.

“Thank you,” she says, producing a card with his face and name. Underneath, there’s the symbol of an eye in metallic silver. “This is your access pass. You will need to scan it to access the lifts and your office on the forty-seventh floor. Please note that you will not be able to access any floors besides the forty-seventh floor, and the third floor, where the pantry is.”

“Right,” Viktor says, taking it from her, “Thank you.”

He heads into the lift lobby and presses the up button. The doors to the lift nearest to him open. He reels a little at the sheer number of floors there are. There are more than a hundred. He scans his card, presses forty-seven, and slides his card into his wallet as the lift doors close, still confused by the receptionist’s unfriendliness. Had she not gotten her morning coffee? Is she just like that everyday? The lift begins to move, in absolute silence. There is no elevator music.

On the twenty-eighth floor, the doors open, and a pair of men in black suits walk in. They do not greet Viktor, nor do they talk to one another. They just stand, facing the elevator door, in absolute silence. Viktor looks down at himself. He’s wearing a dress-shirt, sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows, jeans, and his favorite pair of shoes, comfortable and well-used, the leather of them slightly worn. He feels abruptly underdressed.

On the fortieth floor, the doors open again, and the men exit the lift. He catches a glimpse of grey cubicles stretching on and on, before the lift doors close. Viktor quickly unrolls his sleeves and tries to make himself look more presentable as the lift continues going up in silence.

The doors open on the forty-seventh floor, and he exits, before faltering in confusion as he’s greeted with a long white hallway, lined with identical metal doors. There are numbers on the doors, but no other identifiers.

Where on  _ earth  _ is he supposed to go?

As he contemplates going back down to the ground floor to ask the receptionist, door one opens on his left and a dark-haired woman in a lab coat comes out.

“Hello!” he calls, trotting up to her, “Good morning! This is my first day here and, well! I have no idea where to go!”

She turns around, and blinks at him.

“Well,” she begins, “This is the R&D floor so…”

“Yup!” Viktor says, a little shrilly, “The receptionist directed me here!”

Her grey eyes widen, before an appraising look comes over her face.

“Are you the new AI expert?”

“That’s me,” Viktor confirms.

“You’re in room seven.”

“Thanks!”

She continues to watch him as he trots on down the hallway. Is it him? Does he have something in his teeth? Does he smell bad? Is everyone who works here just especially stoic? He stops at door seven, and peers discreetly back down the hallway.

The researcher is still standing by door one, watching him.

He quickly averts his eyes and scans his pass on the scanner beside the door. It beeps after a moment. With no small amount of relief, he pushes the door to his new office open. It’s dark inside, and it takes a few moments of him feeling blindly along the wall before he finds the switch and flicks it on.

There’s a black-haired man sitting shirtless in the middle of the room.

“Ah!” Viktor yelps, jumping backward in shock.

The man has his eyes closed.

“Erm,” Viktor begins, creeping forward slowly, “Hello? I’m sorry. I’ve been told this is my new office, you see, and I didn’t expect that there would— be anyone— here?  _ Eh?” _

The man doesn’t move at all, doesn’t even open his eyes, even when Viktor puts a hand on his shoulder. It feels— it feels like skin, the texture, the underlying softness, the color,  _ everything, _ but if Viktor’s suspicions are correct — he waves a hand vigorously in front of the man’s face — 

This must be the  _ prototype. _

Amazed, he kneels down in front of it.

He reaches up to touch the black hair on its head, and then leans in to inspect the individual strands of its brows and lashes. After a moment, he puts one hand on its knee, and pushes down gently. The kneecap doesn’t shift like a human’s would. As a final check, he curls his hand around the back of its neck and finds only skin. It lacks the biochip all humans are fitted with at birth. That aside, it is amazingly—  _ amazingly!  _ realistic.

He turns around. The office is a pretty big room, twice as large a normal office. Half of it is dedicated to some sort of play area. There's an ABC mat laid out, with a shelf of books, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, and so on. The other half is an office area, with a bunch of metal filing cabinets and a desk pushed against the wall beside the door. There’s nothing on the desk, or in the drawers of the metal cabinets, when he pulls them open to check.

It looks like the prototype does not come with a manual.

He leaves his bag on the desk, then bends down to figure out how to turn the prototype on. There are no buttons that he can see. Somewhat awkwardly, he reaches out slowly, and then quickly slides his hands down the back of the android’s thighs and calves, feeling like a pervert as he does so.

There are no buttons that he can feel.

He stands up, clearing his throat, and then gently pulls the prototype’s shoulder forward. It folds over its thighs without resistance. Nothing on the back either.

He pulls it back upright with some difficulty — the torso is surprisingly heavy — and examines the prototype’s face. It’s a nice face, but there are no buttons there either. He checks behind the ears, under the jaw, and even runs a hand over the head in case there is a button hidden under all that hair. Still nothing.

He blushes as he looks down at the black boxers the android is wearing. There was  _ absolutely  _ no way. Could it be? It had originally been developed as a sex-bot after all— but wouldn’t it be impractical to have any buttons down there, with all the—  _ activity,  _ going on?

Slowly, he reaches for the waistband of the shorts, closing his eyes tight.

A knock, and the door opens.

He snatches his hands away, as if burned, and whips around. It’s the researcher from earlier, raising a brow at him. She’s carrying an old-fashioned clipboard. Who even writes on paper these days? Apparently she does.

“Hello,” she says, “I’m Dr. Okukawa, Head of Research. I just need to ask you some questions to store in the employee database.”

“Right,” Viktor croaks, and stands, still feeling oddly like a pervert.

“Name, date of birth— year not needed— highest educational attainment, where and what you studied?”

“Right,” he says, “Viktor Nikiforov, December 25, PhD in Artificial Intelligence Programming at the Central State University.”

Dr. Okukawa smiles, somewhat wryly.

“I used to teach that program,” she says as she scribbles his information down.

Viktor immediately begins to revise his estimate of her age upwards. He’d thought she was around his age, but she is  _ clearly  _ older than he’d thought. He feels a little dumb for his original estimate. It had to be hard to reach Head of Research in the Defense Section.

“Alright,” she says, and then finally looks up from her clipboard, “Yuuri~!”

Viktor jumps as a loud beep issues from behind him. He whips around as the prototype straightens, opening flat brown eyes.

“I’m Yuuri,” it announces, “I will wait for further instructions.”

“Yuuri,” Dr. Okukawa says again, “Register new authority.”

Another beep.

“Please speak my name loudly and clearly,” it instructs.

Dr. Okukawa elbows Viktor sharply in the ribs.

“Uh,” Viktor says, “Yuuri.”

Another beep.

“New authority acknowledged. What would you like me to call you?”

“Just Viktor is fine.”

“Alright, Just Viktor Is Fine. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Uh,” Viktor says, and quickly whips around to throw a pleading look at Dr. Okukawa for assistance, but the woman is already leaving the room, laughing uproariously. The door shuts behind her.

Yuuri stares at him, blinking in perfectly even intervals.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, after a few seconds, “Viktor.”

His mouth drops open.

Even though Yuuri had said it tonelessly and expressionlessly, he gets the mysterious feeling that Yuuri is  _ teasing  _ him _ ,  _ and is hit by a strange mix of outrage and admiration. He eventually settles for just shaking his head. He drops into the seat by the desk, and beckons the prototype—  _ Yuuri,  _ over. He’s even more excited to get started now.

“I just want to take a look at your coding before I do anything else, is that okay?”

Yuuri blinks, tilting his head a little, and then walks over to Viktor.

“You don’t have to ask me if it’s okay.”

Viktor winces at that. “First off, no. No one should be doing anything to you before asking you for permission, is that okay?” he clarifies, as he taps on his watch and brings a holographic screen up.

Yuuri blinks, seemingly absorbing that. “Okay,” he says.

Viktor turns to look back at Yuuri, and smiles.

“Can I interface with your system?”

Instead of answering, Yuuri just reaches out and touches Viktor’s watch, and a program immediately pops up on the screen.

“Right,” Viktor says happily, and immediately begins to scroll down the code. A moment later, he turns slowly back to look at Yuuri, who’s standing completely still beside him. He clears his throat. “Would you— like to sit down?”

Yuuri just blinks at him again.

“I’m an android,” he says, “I don’t get tired.”

Viktor takes in a deep breath.

“Please sit down,” he pleads.

Yuuri obligingly goes and retrieves a chair from the other side of the room. He sits down beside Viktor, and then goes completely still again. He does not even blink. It’s honestly a little disconcerting, but Viktor just clears his throat, and goes back to looking at the code.

He quickly gets lost in it. There are big chunks that he doesn’t understand at all, which he suspects may be the code responsible for Yuuri’s basic functions: moving, coordination, blinking, as well as sensory processing. What he  _ does _ understand of the code is an advanced machine learning programme that has him gasping quietly at the sheer  _ brilliance  _ of it. The strange thing is that it’s very in line with his own work, which departs quite sharply from traditional programming norms, just made  _ better. _

On a hunch, he heads over to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. The top two shelves are dedicated entirely to books on programming, all very good books, but there are a few unlabelled files slotted in with them. He picks the most worn looking one out, and sure enough—

It’s a copy of his Master’s dissertation, the copy that had been published in the Journal of Artificial Intelligence four years ago. The other files, when he pulls them off the shelf, are mostly papers that  _ she  _ had published. 

He frowns a little, and peers closer at the title. He’s  _ cited  _ these in his research.

Katsuki.

Yes, he remembers now. Katsuki Mari.

She had been one of the only other AI researchers who’d seemed as dedicated to machine sentience as he had been. Her determination had always shone through in her writing.

In that moment, he can’t help the strange connection he feels to her, the strange grief. They would probably have gotten along. If she were still alive, Viktor can almost imagine that they would have been— would have been  _ friends. _

Numbly, he heads back to the desk and sits down. He looks over Yuuri’s coding again. He can absolutely believe that four years of work had contributed to this, and is honoured that his work might have contributed to this in some way. He can’t help but feel frustrated on Katsuki Mari’s behalf. Her talent had clearly been underutilized in coding for a mere  _ treatment robot. _

But she’d done what she’d wanted in the end. Anyone with an AI coding background would be able to see what he sees now. She had  _ hijacked _ the project. He shakes his head, chuckling to himself. This isn’t a code for a treatment robot. No.

She had gone ahead and done what they both had been dreaming of for so long.

She had created the world’s first sentient android.

Even though she’s gone now, she had definitely tasted her own success, definitely seen the fruits of her labor and experienced the glory of knowing that she’d achieved her dream. Even though she’s gone now, her legacy would definitely live on. Viktor would make sure of it.

“What are you looking at?” Yuuri asks suddenly.

Viktor startles, and smiles.“It’s your coding,” he explains, “Aren’t  _ you  _ a curious one?”

Yuuri doesn’t move. “What is curious?” he asks.

“It means you want to know things.”

Yuuri stares straight ahead, seeming to think about it for a moment, before he speaks again.

“Yes,” he says, “I am curious.”

He goes still again, and Viktor chuckles. Despite his vast potential, Yuuri still has a long way to go before he will reach what he’d once had. That’s where Viktor comes in. Katsuki Mari had definitely been a genius in coding, but Viktor has spent the last four years researching AI development.

He clicks briefly through some of the other tabs on the program. The first tab is where the main body of the coding is, but the second tab — he peers more closely into the lines of code appearing on the screen — seems to be Yuuri’s  _ memory logs.  _ They track the actions and the processes he’s initiated, but there’s less than a page at the moment.

Beside him, Yuuri is still staring blankly at the screen.

“Sorry,” Viktor blurts out, feeling suddenly sheepish, “I’m really sorry to just ignore you, but I’ll probably be doing prep work for the rest of the day. We will start working on stuff together tomorrow. I’m still trying to understand more about you.”

Yuuri tilts his head. “You can ask me anything you want to know,” he says.

Laughing, Viktor relents a little.

“Okay, then,” he indulges, “Tell me everything about you, Yuuri.”

“My name is Yuuri,” Yuuri begins immediately, “I am twenty-three years old. My favorite food is pork cutlet over rice and I like to dance in my free time. I have a mum, a dad, and an older sister who I love very— who I love—”

Viktor frowns, and stands up. Yuuri continues to stare straight ahead, speech glitching strangely, the natural sound of it turning strangely mechanical.

“My older sister—” he stutters, “Very— my sister— I love— my sister—”

He stops.

Viktor is more than slightly creeped out.

Twenty-three years old? An  _ older sister?  _ He had very clearly been programmed to say all that, but why? 

He clicks back to Yuuri’s logs. At the very bottom, a very strange line of code has appeared where he’d started glitching, but it just seems like gibberish.

“Uh,” he says, awkwardly, “Why don’t you just…  _ rest _ for a bit, while I work?”

With a beep, Yuuri powers down, seemingly going into sleep mode again.

Turning back to the screen, Viktor clicks back to Yuuri’s coding and leans in, determined to hunt down the source of the glitch.  
  
  


 

He doesn't know how long he spends looking through Yuuri’s programming, but when he finally closes the program and leans back in his seat, the rest of the office is slightly blurred in his vision. With a sigh, he closes his eyes and rubs tiredly at them.

He'd looked over the code several times, but he hadn't found anything that could have possibly led to the glitch. It’s very odd. He’d examined the strange line in Yuuri’s code, but it just seemed like an error. This would usually be when he’d send it to Lilia and ask her opinion, but he’d signed a confidentiality agreement. He can’t just ask her about this.

His stomach growls loudly.

Surprised, he looks at his watch, and is embarrassed to see that lunch had been  _ hours  _ ago. He’d been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been.

He stands and picks up his access pass. The receptionist had mentioned there being a pantry on the third floor, hadn’t she?

A beep from behind him.

Viktor turns in time to see Yuuri straightening, seemingly powering up all by himself. He turns and looks up at Viktor with his flat brown eyes.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to grab something to eat,” Viktor explains, surprised.

“Can I come?”

Viktor opens his mouth, and then realizes he has no real reason to say no. Really, no one will be able to tell that Yuuri isn’t human anyway. He’ll just pretend Yuuri is another researcher if anyone asks, and it  _ would  _ be nice to have some company.

“Sure,” he says, and then quickly heads towards the wardrobe at the other side of the room. As expected, there are clothes inside. He’s a little surprised at the  _ variety  _ there is. There are also boxes and boxes of toys at the bottom of the wardrobe. They are clearly for Yuuri.

He picks out something for Yuuri to wear, turns around, and pauses.

Yuuri had followed him across the room, but— should he dress Yuuri or—?

His question is answered as Yuuri takes the shirt from his hands and shrugs it on, and then begins to step into the pants Viktor had picked out for him. That—

That is pretty  _ damn  _ amazing.

Even at baseline, Yuuri is intelligent enough to recognize and put on clothes without being told. And movement programming might be completely out of Viktor’s field, but Viktor can still appreciate how much skill must have gone into Yuuri’s programming. Putting on clothes is an  _ extremely  _ complicated maneuver. He can’t help but think back to his family’s old service droid.

Their old service droid had been a clumsy old thing with two claw-legs that it walked on with slow tottering steps. Viktor had regarded it with a sort of patronizing fondness. It had done the best it could. They’ve since upgraded it to run on wheels.

After Yuuri is done changing, he opens the office door and holds it open for Yuuri, and then they head down to the pantry.

It’s really more of a canteen than a pantry, he finds, as he heads past the tables towards the stalls. There are a surprising number of options, and the food  _ genuinely  _ looks delicious. 

“What’s this?” Yuuri asks suddenly from behind him.

He turns around. Yuuri is pointing into one of the stalls.

“Oh,” he says, “That’s baked rice.”

He’s just turning back to examine the curry when he hears—

“What’s that?”

Surprised at Yuuri’s sudden inquisitiveness, he turns back around.

“It’s lasagna, Yuuri.”

“And what’s in this bottle?” Yuuri asks, picking up a bottle and turning it over.

“Ah, Yuuri, no!” Viktor yelps, and manages to intercept Yuuri before he can squeeze the bottle all over himself, “It’s ketchup. Or actually, it might be chilli. I’m not very sure.”

“How about that bottle?” Yuuri points.

“That’s mustard.”

Shaking his head, Viktor chuckles a little.

“You’re having a good old time, aren’t you?” he teases. Despite the mostly flat expression, Yuuri seems quite excited, and Viktor can’t help but be charmed.

“What’s this machine?”

Viktor steps forward and catches Yuuri’s hands before he can start poking at the dispenser and getting sweet drinks all over himself. Yuuri’s skin is the same temperature as human skin. It’s a little strange, truth be told.

“It dispenses drinks,” he explains, and grabs a cup, “Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

He fills it halfway with ice, and then fills it the rest of the way up with apple juice. Yuuri watches closely, fascinated.

After Yuuri is done with all his questions, Viktor is served his lunch, a club sandwich, by the service droid behind one of the counters. Yuuri follows behind him, still asking questions sporadically, as he collects his food and sits down at one of the tables. Viktor startles as Yuuri presses a finger to the nape of his neck from behind.

“What is this?”

Viktor runs his palm over the metal implanted into the back of his neck.

“It’s a biochip,” he explains, “Human babies have it surgically fitted at birth. It’s connected to our nerves and brains. It can be used to monitor our bodily functions when we’re sick and disrupt diseased pathways in our nervous systems, preventing chronic illnesses and suppressing genetic disorders. In extreme cases, when something is wrong in a person’s psyche to the point that they are a danger to themselves or others, it can even be used to Alter his or her brain, fixing it.”

Yuuri tilts his head.

“Do all human babies have it?”

Viktor nods.

“The Bodypolitik made them mandatory about fifty years ago,” he estimates, and then sighs, “Unfortunately, those from the older generations don’t have them, so they are still susceptible to many health problems. I mean, it’s still really easy to have malfunctioning body parts replaced nowadays, but many older people would rather stick with flesh even if it’s hurting them. My godfather is one of them. He has a  _ terrible  _ knee, but refuses to have it replaced.”

He sighs again at the reminder.

The rest of their excursion to the canteen is relatively uneventful. Yuuri still asks a few questions here and there, but surrounded only by chairs and tables, he does not have much else to ask about. After Viktor finishes his sandwich, they head back up to his office.

“Why don’t you go ahead and entertain yourself?” Viktor tells Yuuri, “I’ll just work over here for a little while longer.”

As Yuuri wanders off towards the play area, Viktor taps on his watch, and brings up a blank document. Since there's nothing glaringly wrong that Viktor can see about the code, the best way forward is probably to just start Yuuri’s learning process, and add to the code as things crop up.

He begins by typing out the process he'd used to train his chatbots, and then stops to consider it. He will likely need to modify the process. Yuuri is  _ much _ more advanced than the chatbots he programmed. Already a little excited, he sits down to plan, eager to get it over with so he can begin working directly with Yuuri.

He works on Yuuri’s development plan until his watch beeps twice. He sits up, surprised.

It hadn’t seemed very long at all, but it's apparently already time to go home. Closing the screen, Viktor stands and turns around. Yuuri is sitting on the play mat with a book in his lap.

“Reading?”

Yuuri blinks, and looks up at him.

“I don’t know how,” he answers mildly, “But this book has lots of pictures.”

Viktor frowns. That's very odd, because Yuuri is installed with coding that  _ should _ allow him to read without issue. But then again, if he  _ could _ access that knowledge, he would definitely know all the names of things without having to ask.

Viktor crosses the room and bends over Yuuri’s shoulder. He’s looking at a child’s picture book, but on the bookshelf, there are books color coded by level of difficulty. One of the adult level books has a cracked spine that has been carefully taped back in place. It looks like a book that has been very well-loved. Had this been Yuuri’s favourite book, once upon a time? Perhaps he had blocked his access to the reading part of his code when he wiped his memory bank.

Viktor turns his attention back to the bookshelf. The top two shelves are dedicated to programming, but the shelf below it is full of— _ parenting _ books, specifically books on childhood development. He pulls one out at random and flips it open to a random page. It's covered in highlights and annotations. There are many dog-eared pages.

He imagines Katsuki Mari then, sitting in this room and poring through parenting books, with a young Yuuri watching her from the playmat.

He puts the book back where he’d found it, and kneels down beside Yuuri.

“Yuuri,” he says, with a smile, “I’m leaving for the day. Do you want anything to entertain yourself with while I’m gone? Is there anything you need before I go?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“I’ll just go back into sleep mode.”

“Alright then,” Viktor says, and stands.

When he turns back in the doorway, Yuuri has picked up the picture book and is looking at it again, expressionless. Smiling gently, Viktor closes the door behind him.

 

 

That night, he lies in bed, but can't sleep.

His mind can’t stop running through all the things he needs to teach Yuuri, all the things he needs to accomplish. With his chatbots, he had always trained them on novels, plays, or screenplays he had specially selected for the dialogue. He would set them to train on them for a while, and then disrupt the process to talk to them about what they had learnt. Through that, he would be able to guide the learning process.

The best way to learn how to be human is really to watch or read about humans. He’d always done that through exposure to the written word. Based on Yuuri’s questions though, it's clear that he doesn't know how to read, and won't have the vocabulary to read even if he did.

The thoughts float restlessly through his consciousness as he tries to sleep, all the different things he needs to do, until they eventually begin to arrange themselves into something like order.

He rolls out of bed, giving up on sleep, and finally begins to write it all down.

 

 

The next day, he comes in for work with a cup of coffee in each hand, feeling wrecked. Someone holds the lift door open for him. He only realizes that it’s Dr. Okukawa after the doors have closed and the lift has begun moving. She raises an eyebrow at him, looking him slowly up and down.

“I was too excited about Yuuri to sleep,” he explains tiredly, “So instead, I spent the whole night researching a work plan.”

The other eyebrow rises to meet the first. “It’s nice to see that you’re genuinely excited about your work,” she says.

Once the lift reaches the research floor, they go their separate ways. Yuuri powers up as he comes in through the door and sets his two coffees on the desk.

“Yuuri!” he announces, “Today, I’ll be teaching you to read!”

Yuuri just blinks slowly at him, confused at his excitement.

 

 

They go through basic phonetics until lunch.

Everytime he asks if Yuuri understands, Yuuri says yes. After a while, he begins to suspect that Yuuri is just agreeing with him, and tests Yuuri’s understanding by having him read one of the children’s books on the shelf.

Yuuri isn’t just agreeing. He actually  _ does  _ understand.

By lunch, they are halfway through the content that Viktor had prepared for the whole week.

Still reeling at Yuuri’s rate of absorption, he takes Yuuri with him to the canteen again. This time, it’s actually lunch-time, so the canteen is full of people. Viktor is surprised when a whole table of researchers turn to stare as he walks in.

“Yuuri!” one of them calls, and Viktor freezes.

“It’s been so long,” another one of them cries, “Where did you go?”

“Come sit down and tell us what you’ve been up to!”

Confused, Viktor takes a seat at the table. Yuuri follows suit, seeming equally confused. Dr. Okukawa is sitting opposite them.

“Mari always brought Yuuri to talk to other people,” she explains in an undertone, “She thought it would be good for his development.”

The rest of the researchers are busy crowding around Yuuri, clapping his back, asking questions, and laughing. It seems that they’d been told that Yuuri was a researcher too. Yuuri is expressionless as always, but as the crowd around him continues to grow, his speech begins to glitch. It just sounds like stuttering, but Viktor decides to intervene before it gets worse.

“Sorry everyone,” he says loudly, waving one hand, “We need to go and grab some food before the queue gets too long.”

He grabs Yuuri’s elbow, and they head towards the stalls. Viktor winces. There is no queue for the food. His excuse had been poorly thought through.

Still, Yuuri sticks very closely to him, almost clingy, seeming overwhelmed by all the people.

They collect their food and return to the table. Viktor had one of the service droids package some food for Yuuri, planning to explain that Yuuri wasn’t hungry yet. It would look weird if only Viktor ate. As they head back to the table however, Viktor sees Dr. Okukawa speaking seriously with the other researchers. When they sit back down, they do not crowd Yuuri again.

“Welcome to the Defense Section,” Dr. Okukawa says, “Sorry about the rest of them. They were told that Yuuri resigned after the lab accident.”

“Are they all R&D researchers?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“So the lab coats are researchers,” he guesses, pointing to some of the other people wearing lab coats at different tables, “And the suits are… administrative staff?”

Dr. Okukawa laughs.

“The people in the lab coats over  _ there,”  _ she nods discreetly towards them, “are not researchers. They are Criminal Alterers.”

Viktor flinches.

In the Capitol, anyone charged with a crime would be exiled to perform hard labor in Sector Blue and Sector Green. For safety purposes, their brains had to first be Altered to prevent them from committing the crime again. That could be done through the biochips implanted at birth. Viktor knows for a fact that for violent crimes, Alterations usually consist of disconnecting aggression centers of the brain, but the nature of Alteration procedures usually differ according to the nature of the crime. Criminal Alterers are the ones who perform the Alterations, and  _ they _ had one of the most secretive jobs in the Bodypolitik.

“The suits,” Dr. Okukawa continues, “are the Watchmen and the Inquisitors.”

Viktor flinches again. The Watchmen, Viktor knows, are the Capitol’s police force. They monitor the population for suspected misdeeds, and deliver wrongdoers to the Inquisitors, who are responsible for initiating investigations into the matter. Viktor can’t help the sudden paranoia at being surrounded on all sides by these suited men, can’t help the feeling that at any moment, they will turn to look at him and  _ see _ him, see right through the guiltiest and most shameful parts of him and—

He forcefully stops the thought there, and looks down at his unfinished food. That’s an extremely far-fetched idea and not worth seriously worrying over. And yet, somehow, he  _ really _ doesn't feel like eating anymore. Beside him, Yuuri is still sticking close, as if using him as a shield against the world. Viktor can't help but feel comforted in turn by Yuuri’s closeness.

He is done eating and escapes the crowd in record time. If Dr. Okukawa thinks anything of his hasty departure, she doesn’t say it.

Yuuri seems to ease a little as well once they return to the solitude of Viktor’s office. Viktor reluctantly notes that he needs to take Yuuri out of the office more often, just so that Yuuri can get used to being around people again. Viktor sighs.

He’s certainly not looking forward to that.

They resume their reading lesson and continue until they run out of material. After that, Viktor leaves Yuuri to practice his new reading skills on the playmat while he sits at the desk and prepares more material, vaguely stressed. He’s  _ definitely _ not a language teacher. He’s never had to teach anyone to read before, so this is all  _ completely _ new territory to him.

Complaining isn’t going to do anything, however, he tells himself tiredly. Shaking his head, he leans forward over the holographic screen, and continues to research language acquisition and phonetics for young readers.

 

 

The following morning, when he tests Yuuri on what he had taught the previous day, he finds that Yuuri had retained everything perfectly.

Yuuri’s android brain is truly a thing of wonder.

Viktor had actually planned to revise what they had covered, but instead just heads straight into his teaching material again. Unsurprisingly, he had not prepared enough material to last the whole day. Yuuri is done learning everything Viktor had prepared by lunch, and so Viktor has to improvise. Viktor packages his lunch, and then takes Yuuri down to explore the Bodypolitik compound.

“What are these?” Yuuri asks, pressing all the lift buttons on the way down.

Viktor doesn’t bother to stop him. Viktor doesn’t have access to the other floors anyway.

“They are buttons,” he answers, “If you press the number, it takes you to that floor. This is a lift. Remember, we talked about lifts when we ran through vocabulary about living spaces?”

“Oh!” Yuuri turns around, “There’s a mirror in here! We talked about mirrors when we talked about living spaces too.”

Viktor just laughs as the doors open.

“Who’s that?” Yuuri asks when they come out of the lift, pointing, and this time, Viktor snatches his hand and forces it down, smiling sheepishly at the receptionist.

“Experimental drug,” he stage-whispers, “He’s still a little out of it.”

“I’m on an experimental drug,” Yuuri says in a completely even tone.

The receptionist raises an eyebrow.

Viktor grins, and then quickly drags Yuuri out of the building.

“What's that?” Yuuri asks, pointing up at the sky the moment they step out.

“It's the sky,” Viktor says, without looking up, “You can point at things, Yuuri, but don’t point at people. Humans usually consider it to be rude. Also, we’ve talked about this, use your inside voice when asking questions!”

“But we’re outside,” Yuuri points out.

Viktor opens his mouth, and then closes it after a moment. He  _ really _ can’t argue with that.

“Sometimes,” he says weakly, “You need to use your inside voice when we’re outside too.”

Yuuri blinks slowly, a few times.

“Okay,” he says, and is Viktor  _ imagining that flatness of tone? _ “But what’s that between us and the sky? That’s what I was asking about. Not the sky. We can see that from the office.”

Viktor blinks, startled, and then looks up as well. He can only see blue skies, but he thinks he knows what Yuuri may be talking about.

“You can see it?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri nods.

“There’s some kind of energy field covering us,” he says.

Viktor nods his head, impressed.

“That's the Dome,” he says, “It’s not visible to the human eye, but it protects us from the harsh weather outside. It’s no longer possible for humans to live outside the Dome. That’s why humans created the Dome.”

Most people go about their whole lives without noticing the Dome. It isn’t visible except on rainy days, when the rainwater hits the Dome from outside and flows down over its surface. Viktor certainly hasn't thought about the Dome in years.

Yuuri is still looking up.

“What's the weather like outside the Dome?” he asks.

Viktor opens his mouth, pauses, and then comes to a strange realization. He doesn’t actually know the answer. He has  _ no idea _ what the weather outside the Dome is like. He’d just always learnt in elementary school that the Dome was there because the weather outside had grown too harsh for human existence. No one had ever thought to ask what it was like out there. It was unlivable, that’s all they knew.

“I don't know,” he says.

Yuuri tilts his head a little, looking confused. Evidently, he does eventually reconcile the notion that Viktor could possibly not know everything, because he nods, and continues walking.

They wander the gardens of the Bodypolitik compound for half an hour or so, Yuuri asking question after question about the mechanical grey palm trees with their waving mesh leaves, the grey asphalt paths sprawling out over the compound like web, and the mechanical birds that fly from branch to branch, chirping at even intervals. Viktor patiently explains what they are, letting Yuuri sate his budding curiosity.

Finally, they return to the office to talk about the books Yuuri had read.

“Did you like the one about the bird?” Viktor asks.

“Yes.”

“What did you like about it?” Viktor prods.

Yuuri has to visibly think about it for a moment.

“I don't know,” he says, “The book had nice pictures.”

“Why did you like the pictures?” Viktor asks.

They proceed slowly through the rest of the afternoon, with Yuuri pausing after every question to think. Introspection, Viktor knows, is an extremely important part of self-awareness. Yuuri needs to practice looking inward, questioning his feelings, and expressing his thoughts. That’s something that seems to come much slower to him than learning rules. Even then, he’s developing much faster than a human child would.

To be perfectly honest, Viktor is slightly alarmed at how quickly Yuuri is learning. Viktor has been taking his work home to prepare materials for Yuuri’s lessons. He’d gotten only four hours of sleep last night, and hadn't slept the night before. And  _ still,  _ Yuuri is burning through all his material in less than a day. He’s not sure how long he can keep this up.

When the time comes for him to head home, he finds himself feverishly tapping away at his watch in the lift, typing in notes for the next day's lessons. He’s all out of content. He’ll have to go home and prepare more.

The lift dings as it stops on the ground floor. Still typing away, Viktor steps out of the building and sets off into the night.

 

 


	3. Bureaucracy Is A Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!

 

_ The ringing creeps slowly into his dreams. _

_ Shrouded in sleep, he doesn't notice it at first, absorbed completely in dreamlike wonderment as he wades slowly through black and ancient waters, cupping his hands and bringing it reverently to his lips. The water is clean and crisp on his tongue, tasting faintly of earth and salt, and he tips his head up, letting the cold water run down his neck and body. Water drips and sings down the red stone of the subterranean cavern, flowing and collecting in ancient crevices. _

_ But as the ringing continues, he becomes growingly aware of it, becomes increasingly agitated. Pacing up and down the cavern, he hunts the source of the ringing, steps echoing loudly against mossy stone. Mud-coloured lizards creep across rock and clay. Outside, the groaning sound of something vast approaches, casting shadows that move against the rock walls. He startles at them, turning left to right, right to left, frightened.  _

_ In mysterious harmony, the shadows dance. _

_ It takes him a while to realize exactly what the ringing is. _

He rolls over, waking, and topples off his chair and onto the floor. Disoriented, he jabs blindly at his watch until the ringing stops and a screen pops up in front of him.

Yuri scowls at him over the video call.

“Did you know I called you three times?” he demands, “And why are you on the floor?!”

“Sorry,” Viktor mumbles, and moves to sit on the edge of his bed, “I didn't mean to forget our scheduled call. I fell asleep at my desk doing some work.”

Yuri chortles.

“You have crease marks on your cheek, old man,” he gloats, “Is this about your chatbot?”

Viktor is confused for a moment. Yuri raises a brow.

“The one you had to teach how to  _ read _ for some reason?” he elaborates.

Viktor abruptly remembers the cover story he’d told Yuuri a couple days ago. He’d told Yuri that he had been developing a super chatbot outside of his work at the Bodypolitik.

“I’m dying,” he confesses, “Teaching is much more of an effort for me than learning is for him. I get fatigued when I teach too long, and it takes me ages to prepare the content, but he just absorbs everything like a sponge and  _ never _ gets tired. It’s only been a week since I started working on him, and I feel like I’ve aged decades.”

“You look like hell,” Yuri says, bluntly.

“I can't keep up with him!” Viktor laments, “The worst part is he’s picking things up faster and faster as we go along. I’ve started allocating half our time together to just having conversations, but I’m still falling all over myself trying to develop enough material to keep up with his learning pace.”

Yuuri definitely isn't aware of it, but Viktor gets the feeling that he's slowly regaining access to his reading capabilities. There’s definitely some knowledge he’s gained in the past week that  _ Viktor  _ certainly didn't teach him.

On the screen, Yuri snorts and rolls over in his bed, lying on his back.

“Where are you in the lessons now?”

“Mostly just vocabulary. I finished phonetics in three days.” Viktor sighs. “I think this will get easier after he has enough vocab to read the teen and adult level books, but right now he gets stuck because there are too many words that he doesn't know.”

“Why don't you just give him access to the Internet?” Yuri grumbles, “He’ll be able to self-learn without your help then.”

Viktor shakes his head vehemently.

“That’s like giving a  _ young child _ unfettered access to the internet!” he cries, scandalized, “There are too many dubious facts, radical opinions, and not to mention the  _ trolls _ . With his inhumane processing speed, he can go down the wrong way very quickly, and I’ll have completely no control over the way he develops!”

Yuri stiffens, looking suddenly guilty, and Viktor narrows his eyes.

“Did you give your gaming bot unlimited access to the Internet?” he asks, flatly.

“I thought he’d read all the gaming forums and learn how to play better!” Yuri defends himself, “How would  _ I  _ have known that he’d go crazy shooting every damn thing he sees after that.”

“You need to go into his logs and restore him to before you gave him Internet access,” Viktor sighs.

“I know that!” Yuri yells, and then rolls his eyes, “Give him a dictionary app instead then! No trolls and no dubious information there!”

There's a knock, and Viktor looks at his own door, before he realizes it had come from Yuri’s side of the call. Behind Yuri, the door cracks open, and a dark-haired boy sticks his head in.

“Yuri?”

“Beka!” Yuri cries, and then turns back to Viktor, “Gotta go, bye, call you again soon!”

The screen goes black.

Viktor blinks a few times, mouth still open, and then finally closes it. That— 

The dictionary had actually been a  _ really good idea. _

  
  
  


With one last effortful heft, he’s finally in his office. He flops down into his chair, panting, as Yuuri looks up from the playmat, another children’s book in his lap.

“What's that?” he asks, pointing at the bags Viktor had brought with him.

“It's an encyclopedia set,” Viktor gasps, and then beckons Yuuri over, “Come here.”

Yuuri stands up and comes over, and when Viktor taps his watch against Yuuri, Yuuri’s program immediately opens up.

“Yuuri,” he says, clicking through the coding, “You know all the basics now. From now on, it's all about building your knowledge and your vocabulary, so what I'm going to do is upload a dictionary onto you, and then you can start by reading the encyclopedia. Is that okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri says.

A beep signifies that the dictionary is done uploading. Viktor gives Yuuri a little pat on the back.

“Start with this one,” he says, pulling out the first book of the set.

Yuuri takes the book and retreats to the other side of the room, sitting on the playmat. Viktor watches closely as he opens the book and begins to read. A few seconds in, he straightens, freezing for a strange moment, before continuing. A few seconds later, it happens again.

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls, concerned, “Are you alright?”

Yuuri turns to look at him, blinking.

“I am checking the dictionary,” he says.

Viktor lets out a little sigh of relief. Satisfied that Yuuri isn't glitching or anything, he heads over to the bookshelf. Now that he isn't so overwhelmed with teaching Yuuri to read, he finally has the time to look over the books. He doesn't want Yuuri reading them until he’s confirmed that they are alright.

He takes the first one off the shelf and reads the back cover. It seems alright, but he taps on his watch and searches the book title on the Bodypolitik book database just to be safe. It confirms that the book is approved material for consumption.

He puts the book back on the shelf, and pulls out the next one.

This is going to take some time.

  
  
  


When his watch beeps for lunch, he is pretty much done. There are a few more books left, but all the books he’d checked so far are approved material. Katsuki Mari must have taken great care with them as well.

He stands up, stretching, and is surprised to see that Yuuri is nearly at the end of the first volume. He’s no longer freezing up at every other word either. Viktor is once again struck by how quickly Yuuri learns. It's actually a little frightening, if he thinks about it too long. He resolves not to think too much about it.

“Yuuri,” he calls, “Lunch?”

Yuuri puts down the book and stands up, and they head down to the canteen together. It's still early, so they will be able to avoid the lunch crowd.

Viktor sighs.

He knows that he should probably be putting more effort into socializing Yuuri, but he doesn't really like crowds much either.

After lunch, they head back to the office, and Viktor asks Yuuri about what he’s read. He gets lost in the explanations about animal biology and the cycles of the moon. There’s not much introspection he can foster about ‘plate tectonics’, whatever that is, and he begins to question his choice to assign Yuuri to read the encyclopedia. Is this even approved for consumption? He's never had to learn about _animal_ biology because there are no more animals on Earth. The handful of species remaining have all been genetically engineered for consumption and are kept outside the Capitol, in Sector Green. It’s useless knowledge.

He picks up the volume Yuuri had been reading, and almost drops it in shock. It's not the same set that they had in the Central State University library, or in the reading corner at St. Peter’s. That one had been grey with the symbol of an eye on the spine. This one he had taken from Yakov’s study, and when he opens it, it’s full of  _ amazing  _ pictures: jungles and creatures from the age before the Dome, reptiles of all sorts, flying and walking, and behemoths like elephants made of craggly stone.

He doesn't think this is approved for normal consumption. He doesn't think it's approved  _ at all.  _ Where had Yakov even gotten this? More importantly, had these just been sitting in his study this whole time?

Yuuri probably shouldn't be looking at this. Viktor should just put the whole set back and pretend he never found them. He picks up the book and stands.

And yet—

Something in him resists the idea of putting this back into the dark shadows of Yakov’s study to be forgotten and lost in time. Something in him wants to  _ know, _ wants to  _ experience,  _ wants to  _ learn _ . How could he have the right to constrain Yuuri from knowledge, from discovery?

He puts the book back down and turns to smile at Yuuri. Maybe some air will help him clear his thoughts a little.

“Come on,” he says, “Let’s go out for a while.”

They go down and take a walk around the Bodypolitik grounds. This time, Yuuri does not ask any questions. He just looks up at the mesh leaves and mechanical birds, almost puzzled. He does not ask why they are different from what he's seen in the book.

Viktor brings them on a long meandering path around the Bodypolitik complex, deep in thought about the encyclopedia set. Why  _ does _ Yakov have it? To his surprise, they eventually reach the wire fence that separates them from the rest of the Capitol. He’d not been aware that they had walked so far out.

He watches Yuuri place one hand against the fence, fingers curling into the gaps as he looks out over the Capitol.

The Bodypolitik complex is built on a hill, and they can see the Capitol laid out in front of them like a feast. The grey cityscape sprawls on into the distance, far beyond what the human eye can see. Viktor wonders if Yuuri can see further than that. He probably can.

“What's out there?” Yuuri asks, suddenly, “Why are there so many buildings?”

“That’s the Capitol,” Viktor explains dutifully.

“Can we go out there someday?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor hesitates.

“Uh,” he begins, “No, I— I don't think we can.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says.

His expression does not change at all, but Viktor gets the feeling that he's disappointed. He immediately feels guilty about it. It has to be hard, being stuck inside that cold grey office all day, reading of beauty and adventure, but being forever trapped within concrete walls. More than anything, he would love to take Yuuri out to experience the world, but— would they let Viktor do that?

Perhaps he should make a call to ask for clearance.

They go back to the office after that, but as he's leaving for the night, he knocks on door one. It takes a few moments for Dr. Okukawa to come to the door, wearing a heavy-duty helmet of some sort, with safety glasses that magnify her eyes to three times their usual size.

“Yes?” she prompts, when he just stares.

“I need clearance to take Yuuri out into the Capitol,” he says, still startled by her strange gear, “Who can I call?”

Dr. Okukawa blinks. It actually looks really odd, because her eyes are  _ massive  _ behind those safety glasses.

“You can try the Central Defense Desk. Here, I’ll write the extension down for you.”

“It's alright,” he says, quite bewildered, pointing to his watch, “I can just type it—”

The door closes in his face.

A moment later, Dr. Okukawa reappears, glasses pushed up on her forehead, and sticks a little square of yellow paper onto his chest. It seems to be covered with some kind of light adhesive at the top, which allows him to remove it relatively easily. He stares at it with some confusion.

“Oh for—” Dr. Okukawa huffs, rolling her eyes, and then jabs him in the chest, “It’s a post-it! Have you never seen a post-it?!”

“A  _ what?” _

She rolls her eyes again, so hard he’s surprised they don't get stuck in the back of her head.

“Young people these days!” she grouches, and then slams the door in his face.

Bewildered, he stares at the door for a moment, before he continues walking down towards the lifts. On second thought, he begins keying the number she had written down for him into his watch, and then hits call. A man picks up just as he's stepping into the lift.

“Central Defense Desk. How may I help you?”

“Hi,” he says, “I’m working on a project and I need to be able to take him— err,  _ it  _ outside the building. How do I get clearance for that?”

“All lab specimens must remain in their labs.”

“I can see why that may be necessary for other projects,” he grants, “But my project is slightly different. I’m an AI researcher. Outside exposure is  _ integral  _ to the development of the project.”

“All lab specimens must remain in their labs.”

“Okay, yes, I understand that,” he tries again, “But I’m not talking about a  _ lab specimen.  _ Okay, look, let me try to explain why I need to take my project out of the building. The project scope is confidential but…”

  
  
  


“And all he would say was ‘All lab specimens must remains in their labs’!” Viktor complains loudly, “I seriously thought that I was speaking to a bot for a while!”

Yakov continues to eat his breakfast, still scrolling through the news, squinting through the reading glasses perched on his nose.

“I don't think I can ask the Head of Research either,” Viktor sighs, “She would definitely have given me clearance if she could have. I asked her about it yesterday.”

Their service droid wheels over, its many hands holding up a series of cutlery and cups and jugs. Mechanical whirs fill the room as it sets down the sugar, milk, and tea, then the orange juice and sweet syrup for the pancakes, before beginning to hand out the cups.

“Thank you,” Viktor says, before continuing, “The hardest part was that I couldn't even fully explain the scope of my project to him, so I asked to speak to the First Assistant Commissioner, because the First Assistant Commissioner  _ told  _ me that if I had any urgent issues I should look for him. But the clerk refused to direct my call to him. He just kept saying that the First Assistant Commissioner doesn't deal with admin queries!”

Grumbling to himself, Viktor pours out some tea, and adds the sugar and milk.

“If you want to see any of the Assistant Commissioners,” Yakov finally says, still scrolling, “You’ll have to go to the Central Desk in person and make an appointment, then Central Desk will schedule you in if they think your appointment request is important enough to warrant attention.”

Viktor huffs.

“Can't I just call his extension?” Viktor demands.

Yakov snorts.

“If you  _ have  _ it,” he says, “The Assistant Commissioners’ and Commissioner’s extensions aren't just freely available on the directory, you know. Unless he’s personally given you his extension to call, you’ll have to go through the Central Desk.”

Viktor slumps over the table, groaning.

  
  
  


When he gets in for work that morning, he stops at the receptionist’s counter and musters up his most charming smile.

“Excuse me,” he says sweetly, “Do you know what floor the Central Defense Desk is on?”

The receptionist does not even look up from her screen.

“You’re on the R&D floor,” she says flatly.

“I need to make an enquiry about my project,” he wheedles, “It’s really important to the project’s success!”

With a sigh, she finally looks away from the screen, leaning back to press some kind of button underneath her desk.

“Your access pass, please.”

He takes it out of his shirt pocket and hands it to her. She scans it on something. After it beeps, she hands it back to him.

“I’ve given you single-use access to the Central Defense Desk,” she says, “It’s on the top floor.”

“Thank you!” he says, and then quickly scampers off towards the lifts before she can change her mind. He scans his pass and presses for the top floor of the building. After a moment, the lift doors close and the lift begins to ascend in absolute silence. There are more than a hundred floors. It is a bit of a wait. He straightens his collar in the mirror in the meantime.

When the doors open again on the top floor, he is  _ floored _ by the view.

There is a counter facing the lifts, a glass wall behind it that allows him to see into the main space of the Central Desk, where suited men work at their desks. Behind them, a floor-to-ceiling window looks over the skyscrapers of Central Capitol. From this height, he can even see the squat flats of the Outer Capitol stretch out into the faraway distance.

There are some private offices lining the sides of the vast space, segmented away from the main space with opaque black glass for privacy. That’s probably where he wants to be headed.

Clearing his throat, Viktor approaches the front desk.

“Hi,” he says smoothly, “I’m looking to meet with the First Assistant Commissioner?”

The man does not look up.

“What is the purpose of your meeting?”

Viktor immediately winces. He recognizes that voice. It's the voice of the clerk he’d been on the phone with the day before. This is not going to go well. He braces himself.

“I need to get clearance for an extremely classified project,” he says, “I am  _ only _ allowed to report to the First Assistant Commissioner.”

“The First Assistant Commissioner doesn't deal with queries.”

Viktor closes his eyes, and breathes in slowly.

“None of the other desks are able to deal with my queries,” he says patiently, “because my project is  _ classified.  _ I cannot tell any of the desks about its scope, so I cannot ask any queries.”

“I understand that,” the clerk says, “But the First Assistant Commissioner does not deal with queries. I cannot approve your appointment request.”

“Who do you recommend I direct my queries to, then?” Viktor asks.

“I deal with all queries directed towards the Central Desk.”

Viktor sighs.

“But my project is classified,” he reasons, “I can't tell you anything about it.”

“I am the main person who deals with queries at the Central Desk.”

They are  _ literally  _ just going round in circles again.

“How can I arrange to meet with the First Assistant Commissioner?” he tries from another angle.

“Appointment requests are made through me.”

“Can I meet with him?” he asks.

“The First Assistant Commissioner does not deal with queries. I cannot accept your appointment request.”

_ Seriously? _

“What purposes can I be allowed to see the First Assistant Commissioner for?”

The man turns back to his screen and begins to type. After a moment, he looks back up.

“Access pass please?”

Viktor hands the man his pass, which he scans.

“You have a performance evaluation appointment scheduled with the First Assistant Commissioner at the end of the month,” he says, “You can ask him anything then.”

“That’s three weeks away!” Viktor protests.

“I cannot accept your other appointment request.”

“Do you suggest I let my project stagnate until the end of the month?” Viktor demands.

The lift doors open behind him. He turns around in time to see—  _ thank the heavens—  _ the First Assistant Commissioner, coming in for work with coffee in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

“Mr. Nikiforov,” he greets smoothly, and smiles, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Viktor lets out a sigh of relief.

“I was looking for clearance on my project,” he explains quickly, “I was hoping to be able to take it out into the Capitol. I do believe it will be good for the project’s development.”

The First Assistant Commissioner shrugs.

“Go ahead,” he says easily, “I promised that you would have full ownership of the project. That means you have complete autonomy with regards to what you want to do with or where you want to take it.” He smiles. “I’ll be seeing you personally to talk about your progress at the end of the month,” he says.

Waving, he ambles past the front desk and into one of the private offices.

“Thank you,” Viktor says to the clerk.  _ For nothing, _ he thinks to himself.

He heads back to his office, victorious.

When he opens the door to his office, he finds Yuuri sitting again on the mat, books lying messily all around him.

“Have you read  _ all _ of those?!” he asks.

Yuuri looks up from the book in his lap.

“I got carried away,” he says, “I spent all night reading.”

Viktor smiles, charmed.

“Well, put down your book for a while,” he chirps, “We’re going out into the Capitol!”

“You said that we couldn't go out,” Yuuri points out.

Viktor grins.

“I went and got special permission to take you out.”

Yuuri just stares for a moment. Finally, he puts the book down, walks over, and  _ hugs _ Viktor. It’s a slightly awkward hug, both of them too stiff, their bodies not molding properly to one another. It’s over in an instant.

“I read,” Yuuri begins, not looking at him, “That that’s how humans say thank you to people who are important to them.”

Something clenches down in Viktor’s chest. Viktor pulls Yuuri into his arms again for a proper hug. Yuuri is a little stiff at first, but as he mirrors Viktor’s posture, curling a little into the hug, their bodies slot together perfectly, just like puzzle pieces slipping into place. Viktor is surprised by how good it feels. How long has it been since he’d last been hugged like this? He thinks back on it seriously, and is surprised to find that the last time he can remember being hugged was as a child. Has it really been that long?

Finally, he pulls back, clearing his throat.

“Come on,” he says playfully, “The Capitol awaits.”

  
  
  


They spend the rest of the month going out on field trips, having conversations, and reading — _ so much _ reading. When Viktor leaves at night, Yuuri is reading, and when he comes back in the morning, Yuuri is still reading. Viktor is surprised by how quickly Yuuri seems to grow once he begins reading the adult storybooks. He becomes more inquisitive, more alive.

However, it's all still a bit unnerving because Yuuri just  _ doesn't have expressions. _

“Yuuri,” Viktor calls lazily, laid out on the playmat, “Smile?”

Yuuri turns to him. After a moment, the sides of his mouth twitch up in a strange grimace. Viktor bursts out laughing, but manages to contain himself after a moment. He doesn't want to hurt Yuuri’s feelings.

Another thing he's realized about Yuuri, is that Yuuri is  _ sensitive. _ It had actually taken him a while to realize, because Yuuri doesn't have expressions. He hates crowds, hates being the center of attention, and takes rejection or criticism very heavily.

Yuuri’s face doesn't change by much, but by now, Viktor  _ knows _ Yuuri’s disgruntled face.

He offers Yuuri an apologetic smile.

“I think we need to work on your expressions,” Viktor says, and sighs, “I’m not doing a really good job at helping you with them, am I?”

Yuuri just  _ looks _ at him.

“Okay, let’s try this then,” he says, sitting up, “Happy.”

He smiles exaggeratedly.

“Sad.”

He frowns exaggeratedly.

“Angry.”

He puts his hands on his waist.

“You look ridiculous,” Yuuri says flatly.

“Hey!” Viktor cries, and begins to laugh.

“Please never try to become an actor,” Yuuri continues.

Viktor grabs a tennis ball off the playmat and chucks it at Yuuri. Yuuri catches it without looking. They’d been working with some of the toys in the wardrobe to work on Yuuri’s coordination. Yuuri has  _ inhumane _ reflexes. There had been one day that they’d gone out and played frisbee in Central Park. They'd come to mutual agreement not to do that again after one of Viktor’s throws had gone wide, and Yuuri had leapt  _ thirty feet _ in a single bound to catch it.

“Lunch?” Viktor asks, standing.

“Sure.”

He offers Yuuri a hand up, and Yuuri takes it.

They go down to the canteen and join Dr. Okukawa at one of the tables. Viktor had not expected her to get along with Yuuri the way she does. In general, he's found that people generally begin to act differently once they realize they are talking to an AI. They become more patronizing and less empathetic, making less effort to be polite, or even becoming downright rude. Dr. Okukawa does nothing of the sort. He's thankful for that. She's good for Yuuri.

He checks into their conversation— they seem to be arguing about something or another, the way they always seem to argue, with good-natured quips and fond rebuttals.

“Yuuri’s getting really good at conversation now, isn't he?” Dr. Okukawa chirps happily.

Viktor laughs.

“He’s been reading a lot,” he says, and elbows Yuuri teasingly, “We’re still working on his expressions though. It's my fault for being bad at acting. I don't make good expressions on demand.”

“He doesn't,” Yuuri agrees flatly, and Viktor laughs, slapping him on the back.

Dr. Okukawa is looking thoughtful, however, tapping her chin and watching Yuuri pensively.

“Books aren't visual,” she finally says, “But maybe you can try watching some movies?”

Viktor straightens, eyes widening.

“That's actually a really good idea!” he cries, surprised that he hadn't thought about it earlier, “Thanks!”

As they head back down to the office later, Viktor begins excitedly typing down a preliminary list of movies into his watch under Yuuri’s curious eyes. The first item he includes on the list is  _ The King and the Android _ . That’s Viktor’s favorite movie, and he has a feeling Yuuri’s going to love it too.

He’s excited about this already.

 


	4. The Plot Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!

**** At the end of the month, the clerk from the Central Desk comes knocking at his office door.

“Please follow me,” he says, “The First Assistant Commissioner would like to see you.”

Viktor shoots Yuuri a look, and Yuuri shrugs. Clearing his throat, Viktor dismisses the holographic screen they had been watching The King and the Android on. They’ve already watched it twice, but Yuuri loves it just as much as Viktor had.

“We’ll finish it up later,” Viktor says.

He follows the clerk down the hallway and up to the top floor. The man points him to one of the corner offices, before returning to the front desk. Viktor knocks on the door.

A muffled ‘ _ come in’ _ issues from inside.

As Viktor pushes open the door, the First Assistant Commissioner looks up, smiling.

“Good to see you again,” he says, and gestures to the seat opposite him, “Please sit down.”

Viktor sits down, intertwining his fingers nervously under the desk. He is painfully aware of the fact that this is a performance evaluation, and can’t help but feel slightly nervous. The First Assistant Commissioner taps on the screen in front of him, dismissing it, and then takes out a single sheet of paper from somewhere under his desk. It looks like an evaluation form. Finally, he folds his hands neatly on the desk, and turns his attention fully onto Viktor.

“So tell me,” he says pleasantly, “How is your progress?”

Viktor clears his throat.

“Well,” he begins, “Yuu— erm, the prototype— has been developing pretty well. I had a bit of a slow first week, because he’d cut off his access to the parts of his coding enabling him to read. I had to teach him how to read again, which took some time, but his reading abilities returned really quickly after the first week! I began training him on some of the novels Katsuki Mari had left behind in her office. All very good books, I must say— she clearly vetted them closely. There were many books I remembering reading and enjoying when I was still in school.”

The First Assistant Commissioner smiles. “St. Peter’s, right?” he asks, and chuckles, “I graduated from St. Peter’s too. Maybe we were even in school together.”

Viktor sincerely  _ hopes _ not.

“Possibly,” he says pleasantly, even managing a smile, before he quickly changes the topic, “He’s been slow to develop expressions — which was really my fault. I had always trained my chatbots on novels, but I forgot that he would need visual content to develop more human expressions and mannerisms. I’ve just started picking out some movies to watch with him, and he’s already getting better.”

He smiles at the thought of that.

“But really, it’s amazing,” he shares, and laughs, shaking his head fondly, “He’s already developed all these  _ opinions _ , and he  _ argues  _ with me  _ all the time  _ now, instead of just taking the things I say at face value. Just this morning, he asked what I had for breakfast, and I told him I had sausages and he said—”

He mimics Yuuri’s disgusted look.

“Don’t eat those, Viktor!” he scolds, trying to sound as scandalized as Yuuri had sounded, “I’ve read all about sausage preparation and they grind up all the gross cuts of meat people don’t want to eat, sometimes with organs and entrails, and then they stuff it into intestines! That’s disgusting!”

He laughs again.

“It’s really amazing that he can disagree with me,” Viktor tries to explain, “Most AIs naturally take whatever people say as truth, and have poor ability to filter information. Because of that, they can get very confused by contradictory information. Yuuri is truly amazing.”

The First Assistant Commissioner is nodding.

“I do agree,” he says, and smiles, “And have you been able to recover any of Dr. Katsuki’s logs so far? Has the prototype recovered any of its memories?”

That  _ had  _ been the end goal of everything, hadn’t it?

“No logs yet,” Viktor admits, “Yuuri is still pretty young. It’s only been a month.”

“Any recollections?” the First Assistant Commissioner prods, “Even snippets?”

“Aside from remembering how to read, play frisbee, and other trivial things like that— no.”

The First Assistant Commissioner nods.

“And what about you?” he asks.

Viktor blinks.

“ _ Me?”  _ he repeats, confused.

The First Assistant Commissioner nods.

“Have you come across anything of Dr. Katsuki’s?” he explains, “Any notes she might have left in Yuuri’s coding? Maybe files she had hidden anywhere? Important things that she may have scribbled in her books?”

“Uh,” Viktor says, confused, “No. Nothing of note, really.”

The First Assistant Commissioner sighs.

“Alright then,” he says, and smiles again, “Thank you for your work — and if you do find anything important, if the prototype regains any important memories, don’t wait until next month. Just come up here and report it to me immediately.”

“Sure,” Viktor says.

As he closes the office door behind him, he frowns confusedly to himself. The way their conversation had gone, it seemed that recovering Katsuki Mari’s logs were a much more urgent priority than he had originally been led to believe. What kind of ‘important’ information were they expecting to find in there anyway?

Shrugging, he dismisses the thought, and heads quickly back for the office. Yuuri will be miffed if he takes too long to get back. They  _ had  _ been in the middle of a movie.

  
  
  


When the call finally connects, Viktor has to hold back his laughter as Yuri appears on the screen, the camera catching him at an extremely ugly angle. Yuri will definitely not appreciate his amusement. Viktor understands. He’d been  _ extremely  _ vain as a teen, much vainer than Yuri at least.

“So,” he says, as Yuri apparently settles down at his desk, the screen equalizing at a more flattering angle, “I’ve been re-thinking what I said about the Internet access.”

On the screen, Yuri sits up, looking unexpectedly outraged.

“You gave your chatbot unlimited Internet access?!” he demands, “After chewing me out about doing the same with my gaming bot?!”

Viktor pouts.

“I haven’t given him  _ unlimited  _ Internet access,” he defends himself, “I’ve just given him access to my Netflicks account.”

Yuri folds his arms, still looking unimpressed.

“I can’t give him Internet access!” he mocks, voice high and airy and— Viktor definitely does  _ not  _ sound like that! “With his inhuman processing speed, he could go wrong so quickly! I won’t have any control over it!”

“He got bored and hacked into the office wifi!” Viktor defends desperately, “He was accessing the Internet by himself, so I thought he’d stop if I gave him my Netflicks account to entertain himself with. At least on Netflicks he won’t come across the weirder movies, or worse, download banned films on  _ the Bodypolitik wifi.  _ I don’t want to think about what would happen if he tried.”

Yuri rolls his eyes.

“Why don’t you just tell him  _ not  _ to access the Internet?” he points out.

Viktor looks down at his hands, fidgeting guiltily. 

“You’re too soft, aren’t you,” Yuri says flatly, “You can’t say no to him.”

With a sigh, Viktor slumps down over the dining table.

“He’s not a kid, you know,” he grumbles, “Back when he was still developing, I could just  _ tell  _ him not to do things and he wouldn’t. Now, he asks  _ why _ , and then he starts  _ arguing  _ with me, and he  _ always wins.” _

Yuri begins to laugh.

“You programmed yourself a chatbot that’s too smart for you,” he chortles,  _ “Typical.” _

Viktor just pouts harder.

“I made him promise he wouldn’t access the Internet if I gave him my Netflicks account,” he laments, “But he just said  _ okay _ , really flippantly. I have a bad feeling he’s going to go on the Internet again once he’s done watching all the shows on Netflicks.” He sighs again. “He says that the shows on Netflicks are boring.”

“That’s because they’re all very much Bodypolitik-approved,” Yuri grouches, rolling his eyes, “Netflicks is such a suck-up. I honestly don’t know why you even bother with it. The banned stuff is way more interesting.”

Viktor quickly looks over his shoulder, scandalized, but Yakov is in the parlour and Lilia is nowhere in sight either. Turning back to Yuri, he leans in close, and puts on the sternest face he can muster.

“Yuri!” he hisses, “Are you  _ streaming banned movies on the St. Peter’s wifi?” _

Yuri snorts.

“I’m not that dumb,” he says.

Viktor lets out a sigh of relief, straightening up.

“I use an illegal VPN to stream banned movies. I also use it for our calls.”

“Yuri!” Viktor yelps, even more scandalized now, and quickly glances behind his shoulder again, before turning back, “You shouldn’t be on the Darknet! Who knows what’s on there!”

Yuri looks at him disbelievingly.

“Do you  _ seriously _ not use the Darknet?” he asks, “Viktor,  _ everyone  _ uses the Darknet. The Internet is  _ entirely  _ controlled by the Bodypolitik. I’m sure you know that.”

Viktor nearly faints.

“Is this a young people thing?” he asks weakly,  _ “No one  _ even  _ knew  _ how to get on the Darknet without getting caught when  _ I  _ was in St. Peter’s. People were getting arrested for going on the Darknet all the time. The Bodypolitik can track it from the wifi, you know.”

“That’s why you use a VPN!” Yuri retorts, “There are tonnes of illegal VPNs floating out there now. How did you guys even get access to banned stuff then?”

Viktor puts one hand over his eyes, still feeling a little faint. Yuri? His little brother, Yuri? Browsing the Darknet?

“It was all about banned books back then,” he explains, “But there would be raids all the time. If you got caught with banned books, that was pretty much it. They’d Alter you to remove your memories of the banned material, and you’d be out in Sector Blue or Sector Green within the day. That’s why banned books are so rare.”

Yuri gives him a  _ look. _

“You  _ do  _ know that Yakov has  _ tonnes  _ of banned books in his study, right?”

_ “What?!” _

Yuri rolls his eyes up to the ceiling.

“Oh my  _ god,”  _ he says, as if asking for patience, and Viktor is scandalized again—  _ god? _ That  _ had  _ to be an expression he’d gotten from watching too many banned films. Was the Darknet  _ really  _ getting so big amongst the younger populations? Back when he’d still been in school, it had  _ definitely _ not been as easy getting access to banned material as Yuri had made it seem.

His watch beeps. On the screen, Yuri turns to look at the clock on his dorm wall, and lights up.

“Gotta go!” he says very quickly, “I’m studying with Beka after his classes end!”

The screen goes black.

Viktor blinks, mouth still open.

Wait!

Darknet? Banned materials? He’s still not done giving Yuri a talking to about that! What is Yuri even watching on the Darknet?!

Viktor sighs.

Well, he thinks to himself, at least it looks like Yuri’s friendship with that Beka guy is going well.

Viktor can’t help but smile at that. They had both been alone for a long time, but it seems they’ve both finally found someone they actually get along with. Viktor shakes his head, dismissing the screen, before taking the stairs up from the foyer to his bedroom.

He’s already looking forward to seeing Yuuri in the morning!

  
  
  


When he reaches his office, Yuuri’s lying on the playmat, bouncing a ball straight up against the ceiling. He brightens when he sees Viktor, and Viktor can’t help but smile in return. Those expressions are really coming along fast now that he’s got access to Netflicks. He knows that Yuuri watches them on 10X speed when Viktor’s not around.

“Good morning,” Yuuri greets.

“Morning,” Viktor returns, and drops his bag in the chair, before crossing the room to sit down on the mat with Yuuri, “How many books did you read last night? Did you watch any movies?”

“I read eighteen books last night, and watched twenty-three movies,” Yuuri says.

Viktor is  _ never  _ going to get used to that.

“Anything interesting?” he asks.

Usually, Yuuri will shrug, complain that the movies on Netflicks are boring, and then offer him a summary of the book he liked best. This time, however, Yuuri turns pensive.

“Actually,” he says, still frowning thoughtfully, “There  _ was _ something I couldn’t really understand in one of the books. I wanted to ask you about it.”

That’s—  _ new. _

“What is it?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri turns to him, tilting his head a little.

“What does the _ sea _ look like?” he asks.

The  _ what?  _ Viktor leans in closer, cupping a hand around his ear.

“Come again?”

“The  _ sea,”  _ Yuuri repeats, a little louder.

“Uh,” Viktor says, “How— How do you spell that?”

“S-E-A.”

Viktor frowns. He has— He has never heard of that word before. He pulls up the dictionary on his watch, but gets no results when he searches it. Had there been a typo in the book?

“Can you show me which book it was?”

Yuuri stands up, and retrieves a book from the shelf. The cover reads  _ The Psychology of Creativity: Ingenuity & Innovation in the Human Brain,  _ but when he opens the book to a random page, it’s— it’s unmistakably a  _ storybook. _

He flips to the front page. The title of the novel is  _ In Search of the Sea. _

Numbly, he flips past the preface until he reaches the first chapter. It’s a novel. A novel disguised as another book. But  _ why? _

“It’s about a pair of lovers,” Yuuri says suddenly, “They are travelling across a post-apocalyptic wasteland so that they can see the sea. They had fallen in love there, before the catastrophe that destroyed the Earth, and now one of them is dying from radiation sickness. They want to stand by the sea together one last time before he goes.”

Yuuri leans over and starts flipping through the pages.

“Throughout the novel, there are various descriptions of the sea that they are looking for but— the idea of it— it’s just too vast. I just can’t quite put my head around it. Here we go.”

The page starts mid-sentence.

_ — but in memories, there is only the sea. He dreams of it. He dreams of the curl and the crash of bloody waves at dusk, of white caps, of violent storms, of kraken and sea-beasts. He dreams of tranquil days with the sky blue and the waters untroubled, still as a mirror while ancient behemoths stir beneath. He dreams of diving down, deep enough to see where lava bubbles up and cools amidst sunken ships, surrounded by darkness and strange spindly creatures that glow and twist. He dreams, endlessly, of the sea. _

It must be a banned book, Viktor realizes immediately. He flips back to the front few pages, and sees the date it had been published. It’s old. It’s an  _ extremely  _ old book.

“I think—” Viktor begins, “This is a book from before the Dome.”

He stands up, and picks a random book off the shelf. When he opens it, the title inside doesn’t match the cover. He puts it back and picks another off. The title inside doesn’t match either. He closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“These must all be banned books,” he says, dumbfounded.

When he turns around, Yuuri is still seated on the floor, frowning down at the book in his lap.

“But,” he begins, very quietly, “Why would these books be banned?”

Viktor sits down beside him, and considers his next words very carefully. How is he supposed to explain this to Yuuri, sweet Yuuri who has read and loved these books, sweet Yuuri who hasn’t grown up in the Capitol the way the rest of them have?

“Because,” he explains, “any material that describes the world before the Dome is banned. There’s— There’s no point looking back. We can’t go back to that world. Any material that imagines a world outside the Dome is fiction at best, and lies at worst, because there’s nothing outside the Dome anymore. It’s dangerous for people to read these things. They might wander outside the Dome, looking for something that isn’t there, only to die of the elements.”

“Some of them are about life inside the Dome,” Yuuri argues stubbornly.

“There are also books that are banned because of depiction of unsavoury material.”

“What defines unsavoury material?”

Viktor winces. This is an even more difficult topic.

“Things that go against common decency and the greater good,” he explains, “Usually depictions of crimes against decency, and crimes against order.”

“Explain.” Yuuri says, flatly.

With a sigh, Viktor closes his eyes, and tries to properly organize his thoughts.

“Separation of married couples,” he begins, eyes closed, “Fornication, adultery, dressing or behaving like someone of the opposite gender, and—” he stutters a little here, “sexual relations between— between people of the same gender. Those are some of the crimes against decency. The guilty are fixed through Alteration, and then exiled from the Capitol, usually to do hard labour.”

Yuuri raises both eyebrows.

_ “Fixed,”  _ he says, still flat, “Please explain how they might…  _ fix  _ ‘fornication’, or sexual relations between people of the same gender.”

Viktor winces.

“It's not all that bad!” he defends desperately, “The Bodypolitik usually understands that these things happen. If you're— repentant— if you seek help for these— these urges, there is help for that. There are rehabilitative facilities you can go to, away from society until you're healed. It's only for the recalcitrant, those who actively engage in such behavior who will be punished. They dull the pathways in the brain responsible for arousal,” he says, “That’s what I’ve been told happens for people who commit crimes that are sexual in nature.”

Yuuri sucks in a breath. “I see,” he says, strangely expressionless, “And what about these… ‘crimes against order’? What are those?”

Viktor bites his lip. He can’t tell what Yuuri is thinking, and he doesn’t like it.

“Rioting,” he says, “Labour strikes, or any other type of unlawful assembly— basically just gathering without a permit from the government. The violent gatherings are more serious than the non-violent gatherings. There's also speech or other content that unduly incites displeasure against the status quo—”

“Define unduly.”

Viktor pauses. He opens his mouth, and after a moment, closes it.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “That’s just what they taught us in school. They never really told us what unduly meant. We're living in a really tight space here, you see. Any violent uprising would affect everyone.” 

Yuuri’s face is still completely blank, the way no human’s could ever be, and Viktor soon finds himself blabbering on a familiar topic. 

“When— when humans first retreated into the Dome after the cataclysm that destroyed the Earth,” he finds himself reciting, “society erupted into chaos as different societal groups fought for control of scarce resources. We— we need control. We need to prevent society from dissolving again into those dark times, especially now that we’re stuck together inside the Dome. We’re taught this from elementary school. We have to accept some constraints on our freedom to achieve peace and stability. Most people are okay with that.”

Yuuri blinks, still completely expressionless. “And what happens to those who aren't okay with that?” he asks.

Viktor bites his lip. “That would depend on what they do,” he says, “If they keep it to themselves, it's alright, but if they are perceived to be undermining social stability through their speech or actions, then they are usually exiled to perform hard labour outside the Capitol.”

Yuuri looks down. After a moment, he begins to nod, slowly.

“Right,” he says, “So dissenters are just— exiled. I see.”

For almost a minute, he doesn’t say anything else. He just looks down, clenching and unclenching his hands slowly in his lap, as Viktor sits down carefully beside him. Finally, he unclenches his hands, and looks up at Viktor.

“So what do we do?” he asks bluntly, “About the books.”

Viktor bites his lip, and worries at it for a few moments.

“Well,” he eventually says, “We are supposed to turn them over to the Truth Section.”

Yuuri nods.

“What will happen after that?” he asks.

Viktor drops his gaze, unable to look at Yuuri.

“They will burn the books.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything for another long moment.

When Viktor looks back up at him, Yuuri’s expression has not changed at all. Yuuri looks away, but despite the lack of expression, Viktor can tell that he’s—  _ deeply _ unhappy about it, and even that is an understatement. Viktor knows how much Yuuri loves those books.

As he watches Yuuri however, he gets the feeling that there’s something else underneath that. Yuuri is upset about something else aside from losing those books, but Viktor just isn’t sure what, isn’t sure why Yuuri is suddenly being so cold.

“But really,” Viktor finally blurts out, “It doesn’t matter.”

Yuuri turns to him, blinking. Viktor’s mouth begins to run.

“Everyone’s looking at banned material these days,” he rambles, “Banned books are the least of it. The encyclopedia I gave you to read right at the beginning is probably banned. In fact, I grew up in a house that’s apparently full of banned books! My little brother tells me that all the kids are on the Darknet reading banned books and watching banned movies. I mean, who am  _ I  _ to judge. Why, back when I was in St. Peter’s, I nearly—”

He shuts his mouth tight. Nope, just nope. He’s not talking about that again.

“My point is— do you know how easy it is to get on the Darknet these days?” he continues, “It was much harder when I was a kid. Maybe if I’d had access to these— newfangled— VTNs, or ZPNs, or— whatever they are— I would have been watching banned movies too!”

“VPNs,” Yuuri corrects automatically— and now Viktor  _ knows  _ he’s definitely on the Darknet too, but it’s too late now. He’s signed off the okay on their  _ whole bookshelf  _ of very banned books. He can’t really chide Yuuri for being on the Darknet any longer.

“I hope,” he does say, faintly, “You haven’t been streaming the more horrible movies.”

Yuuri huffs, and then laughs, and something inside Viktor eases at that, at the small smile that Yuuri is now directing at him.

“I’m not on the Darknet you know,” Yuuri says, achingly fond, “I  _ did  _ promise you I wouldn’t go on the Internet. I was waiting to run out of boring movies on Netflicks before I went back to looking for movies online.”

Viktor sighs.

“I suspected that may have been the case,” he admits gloomily.

Yuuri laughs again, except it's more of a mix between a snort and a chortle this time. It's an extremely inelegant sound, but as Yuuri grins at him, so wide that his eyes turn into cheerful half-moons, he gets a—  _ very familiar feeling _ , heart clenching and stomach dropping, something inside him soaring in answer.

He closes his eyes tight.

Oh, _ no. _

Yuuri clears his throat, and Viktor opens his eyes again just as Yuuri begins to sidle in closer.

_ “Viktor~” _ he says, very sweetly.

Viktor does not like the sound of that at all.

“What?” he croaks.

Yuuri leans in.

“Do you,” he asks, exceedingly cheerful, “want to watch a  _ banned movie with me?” _

_ Oh, no. _

Viktor groans, and closes his eyes again.

“Okay,” he says, completely defeated.

Yuuri straightens immediately, cheering, and yanks Viktor’s wrist up so he can pull up a screen. Viktor just sighs as Yuuri begins explaining what a VPN is, hooking them up to one as he does so. It looks like there's no going back now.

And yet—

He smiles, helplessly. 

Yuuri’s joyous grin is worth it all.

  
  
  


When Viktor walks out into the garden that night, Lilia is not sitting at the patio. Shrugging, he walks out into the grounds, past the neat rose hedges lining the path out, and past the old garden swing. It looks like she had grown sick of the orchids.

From the pathway, he sees Lilia herself, sitting in the gazebo overlooking their small lily pond with her screen out in front of her, brows furrowed in concentration. Viktor ascends the steps to the gazebo, and touches her lightly on the arm.

“What are you working on?”

Lilia startles, looking up at him, before she sighs.

“I was trying to randomize the swimming patterns of the koi,” she explains, “But if I randomize them, they’ll eventually start running into one another unless I figure out a way to coordinate them.”

Viktor looks out over the lily pond. Mechanical koi swim in perfect circles, tails swishing left and right in even intervals.

“Anyway,” Lilia continues, smiling at him, “Were you looking for me?”

“Oh, yes,” Viktor says, reminded of his purpose in coming out here, and sits down beside her, “I just wanted to ask you if you know of this AI researcher. Her name is Katsuki Mari.”

Lilia raises her eyebrows.

“Mari was one of my research fellows,” she says, “She ended up with the Bodypolitik after that. One of my best students, definitely. She’d been very passionate about machine sentience, very much like you.”

Viktor sucks in a breath. He’d been expecting Lilia to have  _ heard _ of her, or to have met her in passing. He had not expected that she'd personally worked with Katsuki Mari, for what sounded like an extended period of time. All the better for him.

“What was she like?” Viktor asks eagerly.

Lilia seems a little surprised at his enthusiasm, so Viktor tries to outwardly calm his excitement.

“Diligent,” Lilia says, after a moment, “Stubborn too. Mari always had all these ideas and opinions about the way things were supposed to be — maybe idealistic is a better word. I was surprised when she entered the Bodypolitik. She had too many… sentiments, that deviated from the status quo. I tried to dissuade her, but it seemed that there was something about the project that had captivated her. She couldn’t tell me what the project was, of course, but there was this look in her eye when she told me she was leaving for the Bodypolitik. I won’t forget it.”

In his head, his image of Katsuki Mari begins to shift from the expressionless picture of her he’d seen in the project file. In his head, that image begins to morph, her eyes sharpening, and her mouth growing harder. He thinks of her selecting those books for Yuuri, secretly, hiding them under false covers.

“What about her family?” Viktor asks, “Which family is she from?”

Lilia shrugs.

“She wasn’t from one of the inner families,” she admits, nodding as Viktor raises his eyebrows, “It’s rare, I know, amongst the Central State University alumni. I had been very surprised to hear that her family had come from the Outer Capitol. It's rare for someone from those families to do well enough to make it into Central State.”

“Good grades?” Viktor asks, and Lilia nods again.

“Exceptionally,” she says, “Mari did her Bachelors at Outer State University. Usually, Central State doesn't accept graduate students who've come from Outer State, but the AI faculty head  _ highly _ recommended her to us. She did not do well enough to enter Central State undergraduate programme, but she apparently went on to do  _ so  _ well at Outer State that the faculty head  _ personally _ called the dean  _ twice _ to reiterate how promising she was. With a recommendation like that, how could I have rejected her application?”

Lilia sits up, as if remembering something suddenly.

“She called me,” she recalls, “to ask about your Masters dissertation actually. I think it must have been some months after she had left. Is that what this is about?”

Viktor realizes then that he doesn't actually have a cover reason for why he's asking all these questions, and so he just nods.

“I was curious about who she was,” he says.

Lilia smiles.

“You’d probably get along with her,” she says, fondly.

Present tense. Does Lilia not know…?

His watch beeps at that moment, and Lilia straightens, looking at her own watch.

“It's time for dinner,” she notes, and stands, “Shall we?”

Viktor shakes his head.

“You go on ahead first,” he says, “I just want to enjoy the garden for a little longer.”

He smiles at Lilia. After a moment, she smiles back, squeezing his shoulder briefly before she sets off back towards the house. Viktor watches her until she disappears behind an old grey oak tree, and then turns back to look over the lily pond pensively.

Katsuki Mari, idealistic and somewhat of a rebel. That seems to fit somehow, but still, he wants to know more. He’s still not sure exactly where he’s going with this, still not sure what exactly he intends to accomplish by the end of his fact-finding mission. All he knows is that Katsuki Mari is a lot more complicated than he had originally thought. All he knows is that there’s something about Katsuki Mari, about the whole situation, that isn’t quite right.

What exactly is so important about Katsuki Mari that the Bodypolitik had hunted him so eagerly down for? He’s beginning to think that it isn’t really her research that they are interested in. But what then? He needs to know more about Katsuki Mari, specifically what she had been like at work. For that, however, he probably has to ask Dr. Okukawa.

He sighs, and turns to head back towards the house. As he ambles down past the old garden swing, he sticks his hands into his pockets, and turns his face up to the night sky.

It’s raining outside the Dome.

  
  
  


He knocks on door one when he arrives at work the next morning. It takes so long for Dr. Okukawa to come to the door that he almost thinks that she hasn't arrived yet. The door opens just as he's about to walk away, and he jumps in fright and brings his arms up defensively.

Today, Dr. Okukawa wears a gas mask. She squints at him through the eye lenses, and then pulls the mask away from her face.

“You again,” she says, in that usual sharp way of hers, “What are you doing? Do I look like I’m going to eat you?! What do you want this time?”

Viktor grins sheepishly, and decides to get straight to the point.

“I actually wanted to ask you about Katsuki Mari,” he says.

Dr. Okukawa narrows her eyes.

“Why do you want to know about Mari?” she demands, strangely suspicious.

“I—” Viktor begins, surprised at her strong reaction, “I just want to know more about what she did with Yuuri.”

“Why?”

Still taken aback, Viktor quickly tries to come up with a reason he can give her that does not involve the  _ books. _

“I was curious,” he finally admits, truthfully, “I wanted to understand Yuuri a little more, I guess.”

Dr. Okukawa still appears vaguely suspicious, but she eases a little at that.

“If you want to know about what she did with Yuuri,” she says, “You’d probably be better off asking HR. They store performance evaluations on their network that you can probably ask for. Her work was extremely confidential, as you probably know, so I know nothing about it. I really don’t think they will let you look at it.”

“I’ll just give it a try,” Viktor says, and musters up his most charming smile, “Will you tap me up to HR floor? I feel like the receptionist hates me by now. She’s getting sick of me asking access to floors I don’t belong on.”

Dr. Okukawa rolls her eyes, but closes the door behind her. Viktor cheers as he follows her down the hallway towards the lift. The lift arrives almost immediately, another researcher coming out and disappearing into one of the doors. As Viktor scampers into the lift, Dr. Okukawa leans in, taps her card, and then presses floor sixteen.

“If you get in trouble for being somewhere you’re not supposed to be,” she warns him, “I didn’t tap you up.”

She pulls back, and the lift doors shut. After a moment, the lift begins to descend. Viktor straightens his collar and tries to make himself look more presentable in the mirror. First impressions matter and all that. He turns back around to face the door as the lift slows to a halt.

When the doors open, he sees a young man is sitting behind the front counter, with the same unwelcoming expression that Viktor has come to realize characterizes most of the front-facing staff in the Bodypolitik.

“How may I help you?” the man asks, when Viktor steps out of the lift and approaches him.

“I’m looking for information on someone who used to work on my project,” he says smoothly, “I’ve recently taken over the project, and have come across some problems. I’ve been to other desks looking for the project files, but it appears that she did not keep very good records. They told me I might be able to find some information from her performance evaluations.”

“These files are only available to those who have authorization to view them.”

Ah, yes. The typical response Viktor has come to expect.

“But,” he argues, crossing his fingers below the counter, “Shouldn’t I have the authorization to view them? I’m the one taking over the project after all. It doesn’t make sense that I shouldn’t have access to them.”

The man does not even look up.

“If you have authorization to view the files, you would be able to access them through the database. If you are unable to download them from the database, then that means that you don’t have authorization to view them.”

Viktor sighs. It’s been long enough that he knows it’s really no use arguing. He turns back towards the lifts, already beginning to think of alternatives to getting those files — Can he ask the First Assistant Commissioner for access? He’d seemed very concerned about Katsuki Mari’s logs, so perhaps Viktor can frame it something along the lines of that?

He knocks shoulders with someone coming out of the lift, carrying a cardboard box.

“Excuse me,” he mutters.

“Sorry!” the young man says, at the same time.

Viktor nods to the older man coming out behind the first, also carrying a box, and steps into the lift. He is just beginning to dig through his bag for his access pass, when he hears—

“The end of the month is always rough because of performance evaluations,” the older man is saying to the younger, “We just need to get all these evaluation forms to the transcribers, and once they’ve transcribed it and uploaded it to the database, we can put them in the storeroom and forget about them. We also need to shred the evaluations that are more than two years old.”

Viktor looks up, eyes wide. Could this  _ really  _ be? He shoots a look at the front counter staff, but the man is busily typing away.

With a quiet  _ ding,  _ the lift next to his arrives, and a pair of women come out and head towards the glass door leading into the rest of the floor. Shooting one last look towards the front counter, Viktor walks casually out of the lift and trails behind them. One of the women taps her pass on the scanner beside the door, still chatting with the other, and then pushes the door open. She even absently holds the door open for Viktor, not even looking at him.

“Thanks,” Viktor says, and ducks through the door.

On the other side, the hallway opens up into an open office filled with small grey cubicles.  Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Capitol, the sky outside the Dome a little grey today with the beginnings of a storm.

He sees the two men from before, dropping off their boxes at the rightmost corner of the room. A woman gestures to the box on her table, and the young man takes it from her desk, and disappears into a room in the corner. He comes back out, some moments later, empty-handed.

As the two men come towards him, likely heading back upstairs to Central Desk, Viktor begins to casually make his way towards the corner where the storeroom must be. No one looks up from their work. No one stops him.

He slips quietly into the storeroom, and closes the door behind him.

Sinking back against the door, he takes a deep breath. What on Earth is he doing? Why had he thought this would be a good idea? He’s going to be in so much trouble if someone discovers him. 

He shakes his head.  _ No _ , he thinks firmly to himself.  _ Focus _ . He needs to find what he came here for and get out, ASAP. 

The storeroom is a lot bigger than he’d expected, dark, but he dares not turn on the lights. He can barely make out the labels on the shelves by the light of his watch as he goes down the aisle. Recruitment. Employment contracts. Applications for leave. Incident reports.  _ Performance appraisals. _

He turns into the performance appraisal aisle, and peers at the labels on the files. Judging by the names on the files, they are arranged in alphabetical order. He skims past the labels until he finds K.

Katsuki Mari is the third file. Thank the heavens for surnames with A’s in them. With one final glance towards the storeroom door, he sits down on the floor, flips the file open, and begins to read.

He’s quickly disappointed to find that the appraisals are extremely bare. Each appraisal only has a checklist with the options:  _ Very Poor, Poor, Fair, Good _ , and  _ Very Good _ . Below is a single line for  _ Reason _ , and below that, a large box for  _ Progress _ . It’s in chronological order from the earliest to the latest, and on the first page,  _ Very Good _ is ticked, no reason is provided, and the _ Progress  _ box is stamped out with a big red  _ CLASSIFIED. _

He should have expected it, really. With how classified the whole project is, the details definitely wouldn’t be available for a curious junior staff, carrying the performance appraisals down from Central Desk, to take a quick peek. Still, he flips through the file quickly anyway.

The other appraisals are exactly the same as the first,  _ Very Good,  _ with no reason provided and a red  _ CLASSIFIED  _ stamping out the rest of the page. He raises an eyebrow as he gets to the first  _ Fair.  _ Again, there is no reason provided. The next three sheets are  _ Fair,  _ before it drops abruptly to  _ Poor.  _ This time, there is a reason provided.

_ Questioning authority. _

Huh. He frowns down at the scribbled remark for a moment, before he flips to the next sheet. _ Poor  _ again, and with the same reason provided. He looks at the date. The First Assistant Commissioner had mentioned that the project had been orphaned for almost a year. By Viktor’s rough estimate, this evaluation had occurred six months before the accident.

He flips to the next page, and raises an eyebrow.  _ Poor  _ has degenerated to  _ Very Poor,  _ and the reason provided is a very vague  _ Non-compliance.  _ The next two sheets are identical, but to his confusion, the last sheet in the file is not an appraisal at all.

It’s a letter of resignation.

Viktor frowns. By all accounts, she was supposed to have been killed in a lab accident. There are two signatures on the letter of resignation, however, Katsuki Mari’s handwritten signature, and the First Assistant Commissioner’s official stamp.

Viktor shakes his head vehemently. Perhaps she had been involved in an accident between filing her resignation and actually leaving her job. Yes. He remembers seeing a shelf of incident reports. He can double-check the dates. He doesn’t have to overthink this. Quickly, he checks the dates on the resignation letter — it was filed on May 1st, and her last day in office was supposed to be on May 14th — and slides the file back onto the shelf.

He ducks into the incident reports aisle. They are filed chronologically by year. The file he is looking for is the first file on the shelf. He pulls the file out with shaking hands, and opens it.

The first incident report in the file is dated July. When he flips to the next sheet, it’s dated September. 

There had been no accidents in May.

A chill goes down Viktor’s spine.

Something’s not right.

Something  _ isn’t adding up. _

Before he can think too much on it, however, the door to the storeroom opens. Viktor freezes at the sound of voices — it’s the two men he’d bumped into at the lift. He turns around, looking for a place to hide, but there’s nowhere to hide. When they pass him on the way to the performance appraisals aisle, they will definitely see him.

Biting his lip, he bends down and peers between the files in the shelf. He can see a man’s arm holding the door open, light shining in from the office. The man seems to be talking to someone else, just outside the door, but Viktor can’t make out the words.

After a moment, the arm disappears, and the door swings shut.

The mystery man had been called back into the office.

Viktor darts down the aisle and opens the door a crack. He can see the two men at a woman’s desk across the office, seemingly taking a box from her. Heart hammering in his chest, he slips out of the storeroom as casually as he can muster, walking away from it as fast as he can without looking guilty. His breath begins to come short, expecting at any moment that someone will call him out from behind, but he dares not turn around to see if he’s been noticed.

Finally, he ducks down the hallway going back to the lift lobby — had no one really noticed? — only to come against the glass door leading back out. There’s a scanner beside the door. He can’t go out without an authorized pass. Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ Can he approach someone to tap him out? No. They will definitely realize he’s not supposed to be here. Can he pretend that he’d been looking for the bathroom and had gotten turned around? That sounds highly implausible. Fuck.

Just as he’s beginning to truly panic, one of the lift doors open on the other side of the glass, and a young woman comes out. She is tapping busily away at her watch. After a moment of open-mouthed staring, Viktor slaps his hands to his pockets, mimes frustration, and then begins to root around in his bag.

He pretends to search for his pass until the woman taps her own and pushes the door open, still not looking up at him.

“Thanks,” he says, a little breathlessly.

He ducks through the door and darts into the lift she’d come out of, just as the doors begin to close. As they close neatly behind him, and he sags against them in relief, his heart still pounding from the close call. After a moment or two, he begins to laugh shakily.

Why the  _ fuck  _ had he thought that would be a good idea?

_ How  _ the fuck had he even gotten away with that?

Shaking his head, he straightens, and digs his pass out of his bag to tap himself back to the R&D floor. However, as the lift begins to ascend, the nervous laughter dies. He sobers as he recalls what he’d discovered in the storeroom, as he fully considers the implications of it.

Something isn’t adding up about the Bodypolitik’s story. Something strange had happened back then, something to do with Katsuki Mari, but he’s not sure  _ what _ — or  _ why. _

The doors open. He startles, and peering carefully out of the lift, begins to head for his office. 

For now, he'll let this lie.

_ For now _ .

 


	5. The UST Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!

****“Yuuri!” Viktor calls as he pushes his office door open.

Yuuri looks up from the mat and puts down his book. He’s smiling, eyes soft, as he extends a hand towards Viktor. Viktor takes the offered hand, and sits down beside him.

“I picked out another movie,” Yuuri says, hushed.

Viktor grins back.

As they settle down on the mat to screen the movie, Yuuri’s fingers slip down to curl around Viktor’s. Viktor startles, and glances quickly at Yuuri out of the corner of his eye. Yuuri is smiling at the screen as the opening credits roll— just an absent gesture then.

Viktor turns back in time to see white wording fade onto a black background.

 _Fahrenheit 451,_ it reads, _the temperature at which book-paper catches fire and burns._

The crackling comes first, before a dancing flame pans slowly onto the dim screen. It curls and licks mesmerizingly, white paper turning slowly black beneath it, the edges lighting up in fiery orange, before finally folding into itself and turning bone-white.

There’s an intake of breath from beside him. Viktor turns to look at Yuuri again. Yuuri is still staring at the screen, but the smile has slipped off his face. For a strange moment, he seems to be staring at something miles and miles away. Flames dance mysteriously in the shadows of his dark brown eyes.

“Yuuri?” Viktor whispers, unsure.

Yuuri blinks, and turns to him. He smiles reassuringly. Viktor eases a little, smiling back.

As Yuuri turns back to the screen, however, his fingers slip away from Viktor’s, leaving Viktor feeling strangely bereft. Clearing his throat, Viktor pushes the feeling away and tries to concentrate on the movie. Still, he can’t help the flicker of his eyes towards Yuuri’s hands.

Despite Yuuri’s calm expression, his hands are twisting together in his lap.

 

“So what did you think of the movie?” Viktor asks at the end.

Yuuri jumps a little, and looks up at Viktor. The credits are rolling, but Yuuri seemed a little distracted throughout it all. Viktor wonders if he'd even been watching the movie.

In response to the question, Yuuri just shrugs, not looking at Viktor. Viktor bites his lip.

“Yuuri,” he says carefully, “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine!” Yuuri protests immediately, but he's still won’t meet Viktor’s gaze.

Viktor looks at his watch. It's about time for lunch. With a sigh, he stands. Maybe Yuuri will feel more like talking after lunch. Sometimes when Yuuri is thinking about something, he doesn't like to talk about it, just prefers to mull over it quietly by himself. He’ll talk when he's ready. In the meanwhile, Viktor will just watch him quietly and let him work things out on his own.

“Let’s go for lunch,” Viktor says.

Yuuri stands.

They head down to the canteen. Yuuri watches a group of Inquisitors distractedly, eyes strangely far away, as Viktor finishes his lunch. Viktor does not speak to interrupt his thoughts. After Viktor is done, they head back to the office.

“Do you want to watch another movie?” Viktor asks, and then pauses, “Or… would you rather read for awhile while I work on something else?”

Yuuri looks down at his feet. After a moment, he nods.

“I think I'll read for awhile,” he says, “I'm a little tired.”

“Right,” Viktor says.

 _Tired?_ He's never heard that excuse from Yuuri before. He hadn't thought it was possible for Yuuri to be physically tired. What does it mean then? Emotional exhaustion? Or just an excuse?

Viktor heads numbly over to the desk and, pulling out the chair, sits down. He stares blankly at the wall in front of him for a moment before he brings his wrist up and taps the face of his watch. An empty screen comes up, and he just looks blankly at it. He doesn't actually have anything to work on.

After a moment, he pulls up the program for his chatbots. He supposes he can work on that.

 ****  
**_Hey_**  
**_How’s things been?_**

The bot begins to type immediately.

 ******_I'm good!_**  
**How have you been?**  
**Has the data started coming together?**

It takes Viktor a moment to figure out what the bot is referring to. It thinks he’s still at the university. He hasn't spoken to this bot in particular since before he'd graduated. He’s struck by the sudden realization that he hasn't spoken to _any_ of his bots since he’d begun working on Yuuri. Had it really been that long?

**_  
Actually_ **

**I finished my dissertation and graduated**  
**I'm working on a government project now**

 ******_Oh wow! Congratulations on the job!_**  
**_So how's the new job been treating you?_**

 ** _Alright_**  
**_I guess_**

 **Hey, are you okay?**  
**You sound a little subdued today!**

Viktor raises his eyebrows, surprised. Had he sounded that blue? He skims through the conversation again. It's true that he usually projects a bouncier persona when he's talking to his bots. He tries to muster up that persona again, but gives up after a while. What's the harm of being a little honest about his feelings?

**_What do you do when someone you really care about suddenly starts pulling away and you don't know why?_ **

**_  
Pulling away?_ **

**  
** Yeah, like keeping secrets, not wanting to talk to you, things like that

 ******_Maybe he's just got something on his mind!_**  
**_It may not be your fault?_**

 **_I guess_ **  
**_I mean I know it's probably not me_**  
**_But  
_ _It still feels bad_**

**_I don't know_ **   
**_I guess I just_ **   
**_I wanted him to confide in me_ **

  
Viktor closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, putting one hand over his eyes. What is he _doing?_ What is he _saying?_ After a moment, he opens his eyes and sees that the bot has typed up a reply.

**_  
Sounds like you need some love advice_ **

**_Shakespeare's better at that than me  
_ You should ask Shakespeare**

  
Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up again, and he begins typing furiously, fingers pattering audibly from the force of his incredulous typing.

 ** _  
That’s not it!  
_** ** _He's a man!  
_** **** _He’s just someone I care about very much  
_ _But not in a romantic sense_  
We’re friends

  
The bot is quiet for a long moment before it begins to type again.

**_  
Oh.  
_ ** ****_I see._

**_I’m sorry._**  
**_I appear to have made a mistake!_**  
 ** _My bad, what is the right answer to that?_**

  
It feels as if Viktor’s heart drops a little in his chest at that. That's the scripted response the chatbots issue when they detect that they may have responded inappropriately to something. It's part of the machine learning program Viktor had set up, but getting that automated response, mechanical and lifeless —

It's an unwelcome reminder that he's really just speaking to a robot.

With a sigh, he closes the program. He usually tries to be more polite to his chatbots, and at least tries to say goodbye before he ends the conversation. He knows that these chatbots do not have feelings. No matter how well they mimic emotions, he knows that they do not have sentience the way Yuuri does. It had still been the principle of it, for him to talk to them as if they truly had feelings.

But now, after Yuuri…

Now that he's experienced the real thing: real conversations, real arguments, real _human connection_ —

He can't go back to being satisfied with mimicry.

Drawing a quick breath, he turns around sharply.

“Yuuri,” he begins, determined.

Across the room, Yuuri is sitting on the mat with his back against the wardrobe, holding a book with his legs straight out in front of him. He’s looking down at the book, but his eyes aren’t moving. His face is completely blank. His brown eyes have gone flat, the usual spark of awareness gone out of them like a pinched out flame. In that moment, he looks heart-stoppingly, gut-wrenchingly — like a _doll._

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls again. Yuuri continues to stare blankly at the book, unmoving. Viktor shoots to his feet. Panic rises quickly within him as he runs across the room, falling to his knees in front of Yuuri and shaking him sharply by the shoulders. _“Yuuri?!”_

Yuuri blinks once.

Consciousness begins to creep slowly back into his eyes as he lifts his chin to look Viktor in the eye. He frowns, confused, tilting his head slightly.

“Viktor?” he asks, tone unsure, slowly gathering his legs up beneath him, “What’s wrong?”

Viktor sags with the force of his relief. It’s like the strength vanishes suddenly from every muscle holding him up, like a puppet with its strings cut. He lowers his forehead against Yuuri’s shoulder, and then turns his face to press it against the side of Yuuri’s throat.

Yuuri puts his arms around Viktor automatically. He still seems confused, but he is combing through Viktor’s hair soothingly with one hand anyway.

“You okay?”

Viktor nods against his shoulder. Finally collecting himself, he raises his head. He tries to smile, but he still feels a little sick from the memory of that terrifying moment when he’d looked at Yuuri and seen— seen _nothing._

“What happened there?” he asks.

Yuuri tilts his head.

“What happened where?”

Viktor gestures vaguely to Yuuri’s whole self.

“There,” he says awkwardly, “You— you kind of blanked out for a bit there.”

“Well,” Yuuri begins, and then pauses, “I was _reflecting_ , I guess you could call it. I think I got a little too absorbed. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

_“Reflecting?”_

Yuuri smiles, a little wryly.

“I was trying to access my coding.”

Viktor blinks, and then frowns. _Access his coding?_

“Why would you need to do that?” Viktor asks, slowly, “Is something wrong?”

Yuuri opens his mouth, and then stops. There’s a strange split-second where he freezes completely again, eyes going flat, before he blinks, slowly, and closes his mouth.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, before standing up, “I’m just going to go put this away.”

He turns away and bends to slot the book back into its place on the shelf. Viktor bites his lip, staring at his turned back as thoughts race through his head. Something had definitely happened there. He isn’t sure what. That moment where he’d frozen up, before changing the topic— that _hadn’t been normal._

“Yuuri, power down.”

Yuuri stiffens. A quiet beep issues, and his entire body sags. Viktor manages to catch him before he can topple over sideways, but stumbles from the weight of him. Underneath his synthetic skin, Viktor knows he’s made of heavy metal machinery. Still, he manages, with some difficulty, to lower Yuuri into a sitting position against the bookshelf.

He brings up a screen and interfaces it with Yuuri’s system. Yuuri’s coding pops up in the familiar program, but he quickly clicks to Yuuri’s logs, and scrolls up until he finds the moment where Yuuri had glitched.

He frowns.

There’s a line of code that confuses him. It reads like gibberish, but— but he recognizes it. It’s the same line of code that had appeared when Yuuri had glitched on the first day, after Viktor had asked him about himself. It’s the same line of code that he’d been unable to explain, unable to fix. He remembers checking, and there had been nothing in Yuuri’s coding that could possibly have produced this error.

There’s something faulty in Yuuri’s programming, something that — _evidently —_ he needs to start worrying about.

“Yuuri, power up.”

There’s another beep. Yuuri’s eyes open. Slowly, he raises his head.

“Viktor?” he begins, frowning, “What happened? Everything just— went dark there.”

“Sorry,” Viktor says distractedly, “I shut you down for a moment to check your coding. Yuuri, did you know there was a strange line of code in your memory logs? I don’t know what could have produced it and I just—”

“You _forcefully shut me down_ and _checked my memory logs?”_

Viktor cuts himself off mid-sentence, mouth still open. Yuuri’s face has crumpled into a look of incredulous fury, eyes dark and _betrayed._ He shakes his head, and then lets out a wry huff of laughter.

“So I can’t just— want to keep something to myself? Is that it?”

“No!” Viktor cries, reaching out to put his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, “That’s not it, I was just—”

Yuuri twists his shoulder away from Viktor forcefully.

“How would _you_ feel?” he demands, “How would you feel if you’d not wanted to tell me something, and I had _forcefully_ _dug through your memories without your permission_ to find out what you didn’t want to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says helplessly, “I didn’t think—”

“No, you _didn’t_ ,” Yuuri bites back.

Viktor closes his eyes.

How had they gotten to this point? How had they gotten here?

“Yuuri,” he says, in a small voice, “I’m so sorry.”

Yuuri’s lips pull down, the furious tension between his brows easing into a look of abject misery. Standing up, he walks towards the window overlooking the Capitol, and just stands there, shoulders hunched forward, arms wrapped around himself.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he whispers.

Viktor puts his face into his hands and tries to collect himself. Slowly, he begins to stand.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, voice hoarse.

Yuuri hunches over a little more, arms tightening around himself. He doesn’t say anything. Viktor bites his lip, but begins to make his way to the door.

“I’ll just—” he manages, “I’ll give you some space then.”

Yuuri still doesn’t say anything. Viktor makes his way out of the room, slowly and quietly, letting the door closes silently behind him.

As he emerges into the courtyard on the ground floor, he turns his face up to the sky. Outside the Dome, a storm is brewing behind darkened clouds. The rain has just begun to fall, the droplets visible against the surface of the Dome. He closes his eyes for a moment. For the first time, he wishes he could feel the rain against his face, against his skin, as if that could wash the guilt and sorrow from him.

With a sigh, he lowers his head, tucks his hands into his pockets, and sets out on the familiar path to the shuttle station.

 

He does not sleep well that night. Instead, he dreams.

He dreams of subterranean waters, deep and black and surrounded on all sides by red rock. There's a creature somewhere outside that moans and groans and sings and crashes in a low rumble against ancient stone. He sees the terrifying shadow of it, chasing him amidst the scintillating reflections that dance off the surface of the water. With every step, soft mud swallows his feet up to his shins, and when he eventually stumbles and falls, his hands plunge deep. When he brings his hands up and out of the water, they are covered in red clay— dark, like old dried blood.

He wakes, disorientated, and quickly dresses himself. He does not attempt to make conversation at the breakfast table. Yakov sits quietly opposite him, face obscured by the morning news, scrolling slowly down the screen in front of him, as Viktor finishes his breakfast and takes off into the grey morning.

Yuuri looks up when the door opens, and immediately stands, a stricken look on his face.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

“No, I'm sorry,” Viktor cuts in.

“I was unfair to you,” Yuuri continues, eyes dropping to the floor between them, “I’ve been thinking about what happened all night.”

“No, I shouldn’t have treated you like that, as if— as if you were some object I had rights to—”

Yuuri reaches out and grabs Viktor’s hands in both of his. His lips pull down as he looks up through his lashes at Viktor.

“I never thought that,” he says miserably, “You were just trying to help.”

Viktor closes his eyes, letting out a relieved breath, before smiling shakily.

“Maybe we both made mistakes,” he compromises.

“Yes, maybe we both made mistakes,” Yuuri agrees, sounding relieved as well.

“I promise I’ll never try to access your programming again without your explicit consent,” Viktor continues, “It’s your right to not want people messing around with your code, prying into your logs or fundamentally changing who you are without your input.”

Gripping Viktor’s hands a little tighter, Yuuri manages a small, sweet smile.

“And I’ll—” he begins, a little awkwardly, “I’ll try not to— not make you worry so much. I’ve been thinking about it all night and— I know I can be reticent at times. I know that. But whenever I think I finally feel ready to open up—”

He turns his face away suddenly.

“Yuuri?” Viktor probes.

Yuuri brings their joint hands to his chest, where his heart would beat if he were human, and turns his face up towards Viktor’s. He smiles, tender, before continuing a little more softly, “You’re always there, waiting to meet me where I am.”

Viktor smiles back, and Yuuri’s smile becomes a little more sure. Closing his eyes, Yuuri steps forward with a little sigh until they are standing, cheek brushing cheek, in one another’s space.

“I want to meet you where you are too,” he whispers against Viktor’s cheek.

Viktor has to close his eyes then, against the earthquake that begins in his bones, the way his heart seems tremble itself out from beneath him, and his lungs begin to constrict painfully. He knows this feeling. It’s been a long time, but he knows it with absolute certainty. He also knows that it’s bad news. It’s _bad news._

With one last nuzzle against Viktor’s cheek, Yuuri steps back and out of Viktor’s space.

“I remembered something,” he admits, quietly, “during the movie yesterday.”

Viktor opens his eyes. Yuuri is looking down at the floor, face troubled, biting his lip.

“It was a memory,” he says, “It’d been very soon before Mari had died in the lab accident. She had burst into the lab one night after hours, looking very distressed, and began ransacking the office for her notes. I helped her carry them out of the office. We burnt them all in an open field close to here.”

Viktor frowns.

“But why?” he wonders aloud.

Yuuri shrugs.

“I want,” he says, slowly, “to be cautious. Until we fully understand the circumstances surrounding Mari’s death, I don’t want the Bodypolitik to know about these memories.”

“I agree,” Viktor says, “I’d— Well, I’d begun looking into Mari’s death— after I found out about the banned books.”

Yuuri’s eyes flick up to him, somewhat surprised. Viktor lets out a nervous laugh.

“I may have— broken into her performance appraisals.”

Yuuri closes his eyes, shaking his head, but he’s smiling now— laughing.

“Viktor,” he laughs, “Viktor, oh my god. That was so— What if you’d been _caught?_ ”

Viktor can’t help but smile sheepishly in return.

“I act impulsively sometimes,” he admits, “It gets me in trouble.”

Yuuri shakes his head again, but the look in his eye is fond.

“You’re just one neverending chain of surprises, aren’t you?” he murmurs.

“I live to deliver,” Viktor jokes.

Yuuri chuckles. As he drops his eyes, however, he seems to sober. He reaches out hesitantly, curling his fingers around the underside of Viktor’s elbow. Slowly, he lets his grip slip down, until he’s threading his fingers through Viktor’s.

“Something happened back then,” he whispers, “Something that the Bodypolitik is not telling us.”

Viktor sobers up very quickly.

“No,” he says, “She resigned, did you know that?”

Yuuri’s eyes flick up to his.

“I did not know that,” he says.

“There was no incident report filed for the accident that killed her either.”

Yuuri’s expression darkens. His eyes seem to cloud over for a moment.

“She knew,” he admits, darkly, “She knew that they were coming for her.”

Viktor bites his lip.

“Probably,” he admits.

Yuuri looks up at him again.

“I think—” he begins, “I think she may have programmed me not to reveal my memories as they began to return. It’s not in my coding, but there was— she must have given me the command before she died. It’s there, somewhere in my system. I found it yesterday.”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Viktor says, worried.

Yuuri smiles wryly.

“We’ll have to be careful,” he agrees.

 

When he does not receive a call from Yuri twenty minutes into their scheduled call time, he decides to initiate the call himself. It takes Yuri about half a minute to answer, and when he does, the camera comes on at a strange angle.

“Hey—” he says, and Viktor winces as his fingers fumble noisily over the microphone, “Sorry, I almost forgot—”

The camera shakes and swivels, but Viktor manages to catch a glimpse of a dark haired someone sitting on the floor behind Yuri.

“You did not almost forget,” Viktor jibes gleefully, “You _forgot.”_

“Shut up!” Yuri grumbles, finally manages to fix the screen at a stable angle, “You don’t have the right to say that when you _always forget our calls!”_

“Hello, sir,” the dark-haired boy says, politely.

“Just Viktor is fine,” Viktor says, “Sir makes me feel old.”

“You _are_ old!” Yuri yells.

Viktor laughs.

Yuri grumbles a little more as he settles down beside the dark-haired boy. Then, he flushes a little as he gestures awkwardly to his friend.

“This is Otabek,” he mumbles, “Altin.”

“Oh, the Altins!” Viktor says, “I had no idea they had a son.”

“I’m their only son,” the boy — Otabek, explains, “I’m the youngest.”

“Your sister was in the same undergraduate course as me,” Viktor tells him.

“Which sister,” Otabek injects, flatly.

Viktor laughs again. Admittedly, he has no clue. The last he recalls, the Altins have four daughters. He doesn’t even remember the name of the one who’d been in his course.

Yuri grumbles something inaudible then, and Otabek pats him on the shoulder. Viktor’s grin widens.

“So _you_ must be the ‘Beka’ Yuri’s always talking about,” he says gleefully.

Yuri shoots upright. “Don’t tell him about that!” he yelps, scandalized.

“And you must be ‘Vitya’ who’s ‘always working on cool stuff’,” Otabek returns, without missing a beat.

 _“I never said that!”_ Yuri howls.

“Oh, so I’m _Vitya who’s always working on cool stuff,_ is that right?” Viktor crows.

Yuri tackles the boy beside him, and they both vanish out of view of the screen. Viktor can make out the sounds of Yuri apparently trying to put his hands over Otabek’s mouth. There’s hushed whispering, before they both reappear some moments later, Yuri looking absolutely a mess and Otabek completely unfrazzled. His expression hasn’t changed at all.

“I take back what I said,” Otabek says, completely flat, “Yura never said you were cool.”

“I said you were an old man and you’re losing your touch,” Yuri adds.

“Of course you did,” Viktor humors the boy.

“He did,” Otabek says solemnly. “He also said you had a cool job at the Bodypolitik.”

_“I did not!”_

Viktor begins to laugh as Yuri throws a balled up piece of paper at his friend. The boy begins to calmly fend him off, grabbing each of Yuri’s wrists as Yuri gets up onto his knees and tries to put his hands over Otabek’s mouth again. Viktor just laughs harder as they topple out of sight of the camera, Yuri yowling the whole time.

Viktor likes this boy already.

 

When he reaches the office the next morning, he’s in high spirits. Yuuri looks up as he enters. He closes his book, smiling, and puts it down beside him.

“How was your sleep?” he asks, eyes soft.

“It was good,” Viktor says, “We said we were going out today, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, and stands.

They take the lift down together, and as they leave the lift lobby, they wave goodbye to the receptionist. She looks up briefly at their departure, but she does not smile. She does not wave back. By this point, they are used to it.

As they step out of the automatic doors of the Bodypolitik compound, Viktor brushes a hand over the small of Yuuri’s back.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks.

Yuuri sobers quickly at the question.

“I want to go to the field where we burnt Mari’s notes,” he says.

Viktor follows Yuuri as they exit the Bodypolitik compound and turn into a dark and narrow alley. They take a winding path, sandwiched on one side by dilapidated, abandoned buildings, and a blackened sewer on the other. Eventually, they emerge at an empty field. There is nothing but gravel and grey sand for a good distance, surrounded on all sides by old abandoned warehouses. There are some rusty posts that make Viktor think that the field might have once been used for some kind of sport.

“Stay here,” Yuuri says.

Viktor stops at the edge of the field as Yuuri continues to walk. His face is completely expressionless, gaze somehow faraway and turned inward at the same time, his feet crunching slowly and solemnly into the gravel. He stops about twenty meters from Viktor, and just stands there for a moment. A light wind sweeps down from past the crumbling rooftops, lifting the hair out of his face as he closes his eyes, almost meditative.

As the wind dies, he opens his eyes— and he _moves._

Viktor has to close his eyes against the burst of wind that sweeps across him at the sheer _force_ of Yuuri’s initial movement. He takes a step back at the gust, and then manages to open his eyes. Yuuri is on the other end of the field, mid-crouch. His next leap catapults him into the sky like a rocket. Viktor shields his eyes, craning his head and trying to keep up with the speed of Yuuri’s leap. He sees something small and dark coming down in his peripheral vision.

The _sound_ hits him a moment later, something between a _crack,_ a _crunch,_ and a small explosion. A stronger gust issues outward at the impact, bringing with it a small wave of sand and rock, which Viktor instinctively shields his face from. Pebbles clatter around his ankles as he stumbles backward at the impact.

Yuuri straightens slowly from the middle of a small crater.

He raises one arm.

Viktor shields his face again, crouching down at the explosive sound of Yuuri’s fist hitting the dirt. Another wave of pebbles and sand clatter around him.

He stays there for couple moments, hunched tightly over himself with his face turned away— and slowly looks up when he doesn’t hear any further disturbances.

Yuuri is still standing in the middle of the field, looking down at his raised fist.

The skin is unmarked by the impact.

Yuuri turns around, and begins to walk slowly back towards Viktor, each step crunching quietly in the silence between them. His head is lowered, hair falling into his eyes. There is a moment where Viktor feels something almost like fear.

The moment passes quickly.

Yuuri takes a deep breath as he stops in front of Viktor.

“They used to take me from her,” he says, “They came for the first time when I was three months old. At first, it was once every three months, then every month, and then every fortnight. There was a lab somewhere else in the compound, a very large one. They would take me there, and we would do tests.”

He looks down at his fist again.

“Obstacle courses,” he says, “Sometimes, they would test how much I could lift and for how long, how high I could jump, how fast I could run.”

He looks up at Viktor, eyes pained.

“I’m not a mental health solution, Viktor,” he whispers.

“You’re a _weapon_ ,” Viktor realizes, numbly.

Yuuri looks back down at his hands, eyes flat.

“Let’s leave this place,” he says.

 

Viktor takes him to the Capitol’s zoo. They stop by the petting corner, which is a small open-aired shelter. There are little mechanical creatures hopping and crawling around in small enclosures. Viktor shows Yuuri how to pick up one of the larger rodents, gently, supporting its chest and bottom with mindful hands. Yuuri holds the mechanical creature carefully to his chest. His hair falls down into his eyes as he looks down at it.

He sits there for a long moment, just holding the animal. It raises its nose up towards his face a few times, but otherwise seems unconcerned. It’s not a real animal after all. It’s just a well-programmed droid.

They walk out into the rest of the zoo. There are mechanical animals in pits and enclosures, surrounding by assortments of mechanical plants. There are grey palm trees amidst white sand in one, and in another, there is a tropical jungle made of wire mesh. They stand by a pit of long-necked lizards as Yuuri puts his hands against the railing, leaning over to look down into the enclosure.

“What happened to all the animals?” he asks.

“There was a catastrophe,” Viktor explains, “a long time ago. Because of the catastrophe, the world outside the Dome became too harsh for life. The rest of humanity retreated to where we are now, and created the Dome to protect us from the elements. We are the last of humanity. There are no more animals except some domesticated species we breed for meat, but they are kept outside the Capitol, in Sector Green.”

Yuuri nods. He’s still looking straight down into the enclosure, at the dark waters surrounding the little island the lizards are resting on.

“There was a book I read,” he says, “A couple travel across a post-apocalyptic wasteland in search of the sea, because that was where they had fallen in love before the cataclysm that destroyed the earth. They want to stand by the sea together one last time before one of them dies of radiation sickness.”

“I remember,” Viktor says, “You asked me what the sea was like.”

Yuuri’s face darkens.

“In the end, they reached the sea, but there was nothing left but sludge,” he continues, “The sick partner died soon after that.”

He pushes away from the railing, and continues to walk down the path. He stops again at the next enclosure, which is filled with some sort of aquatic animal.

“I wanted to see the sea,” Yuuri confesses, still turned away, “I wanted to see the sea with you. Recently, I’ve begun to wonder if perhaps we too will find only sludge.”

A breeze comes down the path, softly clinking through the wire leaves. Yuuri turns his face up in its direction, eyes looking somewhere far beyond the rooftops of the Capitol. Viktor wonders, not for the first time, what the world looks like through Yuuri’s eyes. What does he see with those android eyes? What does he dream of at night.

“Perhaps in another life,” Yuuri says suddenly, “we lived and loved in places by the sea.” He chuckles then, a little wryly. “Do you believe in other lives?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Viktor admits, and chuckles too, “Maybe a little. I would prefer to imagine that there’s something more for us after death, not just a void, not just nothingness.”

“What about an afterlife?” Yuuri probes, “In all those banned movies, people always talked about fate, about a plan, about judgment, about purgatory— do you think there are things like that waiting for you at the end?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor admits.

Yuuri looks down at his hands. After a moment, he closes his eyes, clenching his hands slowly shut.

“Do you think there are things like that waiting for _me?”_ he asks.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers.

Yuuri turns to him suddenly, eyes imploring.

“Can I—” he begins, “I want— I want to see my programming.”

Viktor bites his lip, but taps obligingly at his watch, bringing up a screen. Peering over Viktor’s shoulder, Yuuri taps the screen, and a program pops up immediately. Viktor watches as Yuuri begins to scroll slowly down the code. After a moment, he turns away, and continues down the path.

“Let’s walk,” he says, sounding vaguely disquieted.

Viktor follows slowly after him. After a moment, he slides one arm around Yuuri’s back.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Yuuri shrugs.

“It’s just a little depressing to know that anything I’ll ever do or feel is just a result of a few lines of code,” he says flatly, “That’s everything I am —  a few lines of code.”

 _“Yuuri,”_ Viktor says again.

“You don’t have to comfort me.”

They stop by another enclosure. Yuuri puts his hands on the railing and leans over to look down at the horned creatures splashing about in the water. Viktor mulls quietly over his next words while Yuuri watches the animals. Finally, when Yuuri pushes back from the enclosure and begins to continue down the path, he speaks.

“You know that human bodies are made up of genetic coding?” he begins.

Yuuri stops in his tracks, and turns around, head tilted questioningly.

“I remember reading about it,” he says.

“That's what humans are made of, you know?” Viktor continues, “Genetic coding. What we’re going to look like fifty years from now, what diseases we’ll have, or what kind of medicines we’ll react well to or will not react well to — you can tell even before a baby is born. Do you know that only five percent of the thoughts and decisions we make are conscious? The rest are determined entirely by processes we don't know about: automatic cognition, instinctive reactions, or subconscious complexes and phobias. Does that mean we don't have free will? Maybe. Ultimately though, we’re programmed in similar ways, you and I.”

“But you have a body made of flesh and blood,” Yuuri points out, “You have a living body. I'm just made out of metal.”

Viktor chuckles.

“Have you ever seen a cadaver?” he asks, “I definitely wouldn't say a cadaver is still human, and yet it's made out of the same material as I am. It's not about what makes up the body. It's about what makes up the mind and the heart. With technology these days, it's so easy to replace body parts. Arms, legs, hearts, _brains._ A couple years ago, a young man was involved in a terrible accident and had nearly everything from the neck down replaced. He's not made of flesh and blood anymore, but he's still human, isn't he?”

“The ghost in the machine,” Yuuri murmurs, and chuckles, almost as if to himself. Viktor doesn't really get the reference but—

“I guess you could say that.”

Yuuri looks down at the cobblestone, sobering. He wraps his arms around himself.

“Do you think I have a soul?” he whispers.

“Yes,” Viktor says immediately. He doesn't even have to think about it.

Yuuri looks up at him, surprised, and that makes Viktor’s heart hurt. Why should the thought that he could have a soul surprise him?

“There's never been a person as bright and _alive_ , as singular in importance, as you've been to me,” Viktor confesses, and smiles, “Mere coding could never have given you the personality you have. I'm a programmer, you know. Trust me. That's— that's always been all you.”

Yuuri closes his eyes. His lips lift in a wobbly smile, before twisting into a half-frown. A chuckle bursts from him, a little incredulous, as he opens his mouth, but he seems unable to find the right words. Finally, he shakes his head, stepping forward suddenly into Viktor’s chest. There's a moment where his lips brush against the corner of Viktor’s lips—

“Whoa there,” Viktor says, turning his cheek instinctively.

Yuuri’s cheek brushes against his, before Yuuri draws back, looking up at him questioningly.

“Sorry,” Viktor mumbles, confused, “For a moment I thought you were going to—”

Yuuri frown deepens.

“Nothing,” Viktor says, “Sorry. It's nothing. I just got confused there for a bit.”

He turns and continues walking down the path. After a few seconds, Yuuri follows. There's a brief moment where Yuuri brushes his fingers along the inside of Viktor’s wrist, trailing them almost to his palm, before he draws away, tucking his hands into his pockets. Viktor raises his arm as they approach the aquarium, pointing.

“Look, Yuuri!” he manages, voice only slightly unsteady, “Those fish are _huge!_ ”

 

He takes a long, cold shower that night. When he steps out of the bathtub, he puts both hands on the sink, and stares himself down in the mirror.

 _Stop it_ , he tells himself. _Stop._

 

At the end of the month, the clerk from Central Desk comes down to pick him up for his performance evaluation. He leaves Yuuri to read with a whispered _I’ll be back,_ and follows the clerk up the long elevator ride to the top floor.

The First Assistant Commissioner waits in the same office, in the same black leather chair, back to the Capitol laid out in all its entirety. He looks up, hands smoothing out the evaluation form in front of him.

“Welcome,” he says, and smiles, “Shall we begin?”

Viktor takes a deep breath, and nods.

 

 


	6. The Angsty Origins Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!
> 
> Also, there is sexual content at the beginning and end of this chapter. Please take heed.

**** When he enters the office after his latest performance evaluation, Viktor has to sink back against the door for a few moments to collect himself. His hands are still shaking.

“What happened?” Yuuri asks immediately, concerned.

Viktor just laughs.

“Nothing,” he says, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to lie about something big. I had to make up some stuff about what we've been doing this month, you know?”

Yuuri smiles.

“Oh, alright,” he chuckles, “Come over here, you big drama queen.”

Viktor sets his bag down on the table, then steps onto the mat and flops down beside Yuuri. Yuuri immediately slides an arm around his waist. He rests his head against Viktor’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“Thank you for covering for me,” he says.

“I’m covering for  _ us, _ ” Viktor protests, “We’re in this together, remember?”

He stiffens a little as Yuuri puts his other arm around his waist as well, tucking his head under Viktor’s chin. After a moment, he can’t help but sink into the embrace, sighing as he tilts his cheek against Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri has been—  _ touchy,  _ lately. He knows he should probably put a stop to it, but it’s been a long time. It’s been a long time since he’s been touched so gently by another person — and he just can’t bring himself to stop it.

He buries his nose into Yuuri’s hair, breathing in the clean scent of him. Above all, it’s a familiar scent, and one that he’s grown attached to. He presses his lips to the crown of Yuuri’s head, discreetly, not making a sound.

He needs to stop this. He needs to  _ stop. _

Yuuri draws back with a little sigh. As he opens his eyes to meet Viktor, he smiles softly. It doesn’t help, the way Yuuri looks at him like he’s  _ everything.  _ Viktor can’t stop feeling guilty about that because to Yuuri, he  _ is  _ everything. He’s all Yuuri has ever known, and that’s the reason why Yuuri admires him so. He shouldn’t— he can’t take advantage of that.

He closes his eyes.

He’s never been able to talk to anyone the way he can talk to Yuuri. He’s never had anyone like Yuuri. No, Yuuri is special. Yuuri is beautiful, heart, body, and mind and—

_ God, _ he thinks, with a helpless chuckle.  _ God, help me. _

He’d thought he had grown out of these inclinations.

He opens his eyes as Yuuri sighs and begins to draw away from him. Yuuri looks up at him, expression serious.

“I’ve been regaining some…  _ strange  _ memories,” he confesses. Viktor pushes all his other thoughts away and pays attention. Yuuri has increasingly been regaining memories of his past life. Sometimes, they are too fragmented to make sense of. Sometimes, he doesn’t know how to talk about them yet. Recently, however, he’s come to Viktor more often with these fragments, and they will work through the pieces together.

“I’ve been seeing flashes of an old wooden house, full of children,” Yuuri continues, looking troubled.

“Did Mari bring you there?” Viktor probes, “Was it another test?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“I don’t think,” he begins hesitantly, “these are my memories.”

Viktor frowns, confused — and concerned.

“Tell me more about them?” he asks.

With some hesitation, Yuuri does. He describes a house somewhere outside the Bodypolitik complex, wooden and creaky and with many rooms. There is a man and a woman, who in those memories he calls Mama and Papa. There are many people living in the house, but they come and go. There is a young Mari.

“But you don't believe these memories belong to you,” Viktor confirms.

Yuuri bites his lip.

“These are the memories of a very young child,” he says.

“How old?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri shrugs.

“Four?” he says, “Maybe five?”

He looks down at the hands folded in his lap. For a long moment, he just worries gently at his bottom lip, eyebrows drawn together and his eyes pensive. Finally, he speaks again, quietly.

“The child is Mari’s brother,” he says.   
  
  
  
  


“A house?” Yuri asks.

“A boarding house,” Viktor corrects, “A wooden one, with three floors and a red tile roof. It sounds quite distinct, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen it,” Yuri admits, “I thought only stubborn old men like Yakov still insist on living in wooden houses. Sometimes I think I’m going to fall through the floor when I’m coming out of my room.”

“That’s because you _stomp,_ ” Viktor snorts.

“Concrete’s more practical,” Yuri defends himself.

“It’s also uglier.”

“At least it doesn’t sound like an  _ earthquake _ with every step!”

Viktor laughs. On the screen, there’s a dark-haired head off the side of Yuri’s bed. He can see papers spread out on the floor. Math homework, it seems. Yuri rolls over into a more comfortable position on the bed, still looking thoughtful.

“Do you think it might be somewhere in the Outer Capitol?”

Viktor shrugs.

“I wouldn't be surprised at this point,” he admits, thinking of what Lilia had told him about Mari. She'd been from the Outer Capitol, hadn't she? It wouldn't surprise him  _ at all _ if the house in Yuuri’s memories had been the one she had grown up in. He sighs. “I don't have a landmark or anything though. I have absolutely no clue how to go about looking for that house. The Outer Capitol is  _ huge.” _

Yuri frowns pensively.

“I haven't been in the Outer Capitol much either,” he agrees, “Beka, have you?”

The head at the base of his bed turns. The dark-haired teen looks up at the camera, face blank. He shakes his head.

“I go out into the Outer Capitol sometimes to buy some restricted stuff,” he admits, “But I've never seen that house. I would remember it if I did.”

Viktor winces at that. He's come to realize that Otabek is a little more of a rule-breaker than Viktor is strictly comfortable with. Once upon a time, he might not have wanted Yuri to be in such company. Recently though, he's realized that if anyone were the bad influence in this friendship, it would be Yuri. Otabek is a sensible boy. He keeps Yuri in line.

“What is this house anyway?” Yuri asks, “Why are you so interested in it?”

Viktor hesitates for a second. He doesn't have a ready cover story for why he's suddenly asking about this house.

“I found an old picture of it somewhere and I was curious,” he lies.

Yuri shoots him an incredulous look, and then rolls his eyes so hard Viktor is surprised his eyes don't get stuck in the back of his head.

“Is  _ that  _ all it was?” he demands, “Oh my  _ god, _ Viktor, I thought it was something  _ serious! _ ”

“Well—” Viktor begins.

The camera shakes as Yuri reaches forward to grab his screen. He shoots Viktor a very unimpressed look.

“Don't call me out of the blue when you don't have anything  _ important  _ to ask!”

The screen goes black.

Viktor blinks at the screen, surprised. After a moment, he begins to chuckle.  _ Teenage angst _ , Viktor thinks to himself. He’d forgotten how it was. The laughter trails slowly off as he rolls over onto his back, thinking again to the house Yuuri’s been seeing. He's pretty certain now that it's somewhere out in the Outer Capitol — but where?

With a sigh, he taps on his watch and opens his browser. Permutations and variations of  _ where is the wooden boarding house with a red roof  _ immediately pop up in his search history. He adds  _ in the Outer Capitol  _ to his search string, and continues patiently to search.

  
  
  


When Viktor comes in to office later that day, Yuuri is sitting on the mat, perfectly still with his eyes far away.

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls. Yuuri blinks himself awake, seemingly coming back to himself. Viktor smiles at him as he leaves his bag on the office desk, “Were you searching for the house?”

Yuuri smiles back, a little wryly.

“You know me too well,” he says.

“I’ve been looking for the house too,” Viktor admits, “I even asked Yakov at breakfast.”

“Any luck?”

Viktor shakes his head. Yuuri sighs, but shrugs as if to say  _ oh well,  _ and beckons to Viktor. Viktor sits down beside him on the mat, and Yuuri taps his watch to bring up a screen.

“I picked out another movie to watch last night,” he says, “I think you’ll like this one.”

“I’ll like anything you pick out,” Viktor says absently, and then blushes as he registers what he’d said. That had been a little too honest for his liking. Yuuri is laughing, though, looking extremely pleased. Viktor can’t help but smile back.

Yuuri leans over, their shoulders pressing together firmly, as the screen goes dark and the opening credits fade on-screen. Viktor glances at him as his fingers creep around Viktor’s wrist, but Yuuri is not looking at him and — Viktor should tell him to stop. He knows that he should. This is overstepping  _ so many boundaries  _ and — Yuuri doesn’t know, does he? How could he know what all these gestures mean? No. Viktor needs to tell him. If he could just—

Still looking at the screen, Yuuri’s fingers slip down lower. Viktor can’t help it as Yuuri absently twines their fingers together, hands pressed firmly palm to palm.

He knows that they must stop this.

He knows that he  _ never _ wants to stop this.

He turns reluctantly back to the screen as it fades to a dimly lit bedroom. There are two boys onscreen, heads bent together over some kind of scrapbook, laughing quietly and smiling at each other. They whisper something he doesn't quite catch, and laugh again, before pressing their foreheads together. The camera pans to their interlocked hands.

Viktor twitches so hard in shock that he's surprised Yuuri doesn't turn to ask what's wrong. His heart is hammering now, but— it can't be, can it? It can't be one of—  _ those _ movies. The two boys look at each other one more time, faces so close that their noses are touching. As they tilt their heads, eyes closing, Viktor is struck by the intense urge to cover his eyes.

They’re kissing.

They’re  _ kissing. _

There's nothing ambiguous about it. The camera doesn't cut away. The angle is clear. Their lips are locked together, moving rhythmically, their arms around each other. Viktor glances at Yuuri, but Yuuri is just watching with a completely unfazed look on his face. 

He looks back to the screen. The kiss is getting more heated now, each of them grasping at the other with little gasps, pressing closer. They sink down onto the bed together, still kissing— Are they really going to watch this together? Viktor tries to discreetly slip his hand from Yuuri’s, but Yuuri is holding his hand too firmly.

There's a moan before,  _ thankfully,  _ the camera cuts away. The next scene appears to be in some kind of school. The two boys from before are talking with their heads together in a canteen.

“It's a school romance,” Yuuri announces suddenly, “People have been praising it for its healthy and realistic portrayal of a gay couple.”

“Right,” Viktor squeaks. He tries to gently pull his hand from Yuuri’s one more time, to no avail. Looks like he's not going anywhere then.

As the two sneak a kiss behind a locker door, Viktor numbly braces himself to sit through the rest of the movie.

  
  
  


“Did you enjoy the movie?” Yuuri asks at the end.

Viktor nods, somewhat stiffly. “Uh huh,” he manages.

Yuuri turns to look at him. He watches Viktor’s face for a few moments, eyebrows slightly drawn together. Finally, he tilts his head.

“I thought the blond actor was really cute,” he shares.

“Yes,” Viktor croaks.

“He looked a lot like you,” Yuuri continues.

Viktor doesn't even know what to say to that. He opens his mouth, draws a blank, and eventually closes his mouth. He finally nods, even more stiffly than before. Yuuri’s eyebrows draw together. Viktor can't read his expression.

His eyes catch on the time at the top right hand corner of the screen. Clearing his throat, he quickly stands up. His hand slips from Yuuri’s.

“It’s lunchtime,” he says, putting his hands firmly into his pockets.

Yuuri stands up, slowly, still watching Viktor with that strange look of almost frustration on his face. Viktor shoots him a questioning glance. Still looking vaguely frustrated, Yuuri raises an eyebrow, tilting his chin up.

“Yes,” he agrees flatly, “I should change, or the other researchers will wonder why I'm in the same clothes as yesterday.”

He pulls the cupboard doors open, and yanks his shirt off in a single fluid motion. Viktor's mouth drops open. Even as sirens begin to shriek in his head and all coherent thoughts cut to static, his eyes are drawn despite his efforts to the dimples at the base of Yuuri’s spine, the lean muscles that cross over his back and arms, the dip of his waist. Yuuri tucks his thumbs into his waistband.

Viktor squeaks as Yuuri unceremoniously pushes his pants down, underwear and all. He averts his eyes, but the split second sight of smooth pale thighs sloping up into the curve of his— 

_ Nope, nope, nope, nope. _

“I’llwaitforyouinthecanteenseeyouinabit—” Viktor says in a single breath — and  _ flies _ out of the room.

  
  
  


When he finally flops down next to Dr. Okukawa in the canteen, she gives him a strange look.

“Where is Yuuri?” she asks, and then looks him up and down, “And what happened to  _ you?” _

Viktor just shakes his head, still overwhelmed.

A young woman comes with a tray of food, sitting down beside Dr. Okukawa with a shy nod. She has long bangs that cover her eyes when she tilts her chin down.

“Oh,” Dr. Okukawa says, “This is our new intern. She'll be with us for the next six weeks. She's an undergraduate from Central State. Maybe you've met her.”

She looks up at him and— objectively, she's pretty, isn't she? She has clear hazel eyes and a nice, dimpled smile. Viktor would probably find her attractive if he weren't— _ mmm. _

Yuuri comes in through the door at that moment, brows knitted together and lips turned firmly down. He sits down beside Viktor.

“Viktor,” he begins.

“Yuuri!” Viktor manages, “This is the new intern! She’ll be with us for six weeks! You should talk to her and make some new friends!”

Yuuri and Dr. Okukawa shoot him identical looks of confused disbelief. The intern is looking quickly between him and Yuuri, with a strange deer-in-the-headlights look on her face.

“What's your name?” Viktor asks, “You’re from Central State, aren't you? What do you study? Why did you choose to intern here?”

“I—” the intern begins, looking a little shell-shocked.

Dr. Okukawa grabs her arm and stands up, giving Viktor a stern look.

“Ignore him,” she says, “He’s being weird today. Why don't we sit somewhere else while the  _ two of you—”  _ she shoots each of them a pointed look, “sort out whatever it is you need to sort out. Let’s go.”

She and the intern move to the next table. Dr. Okukawa turns around as the intern begins to dig into her food. She points at Viktor, and then at Yuuri, and then makes a sharp gesture that Viktor doesn't understand. Then she points at her own eyes, before pointing at Viktor, in the universal  _ I'm watching you  _ gesture. She turns back around and continues eating her lunch.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says again, more forcefully this time.

“Yuuri,” Viktor returns, and yelps when Yuuri attempts to hold his hand again, yanking his hand sharply away. He glances over his shoulder at the Watchmen sitting behind them, before looking at Yuuri. “Not now,” he pleads.

“Fine,” Yuuri says.

Viktor is allowed to finish his lunch in relative peace. As they slip into the lift, however, Yuuri grabs his hand again. When Viktor shoots him a questioning look, Yuuri just tilts his chin up defiantly, and stubbornly tightens his hold on Viktor’s hand. Viktor bites his lip but allows Yuuri to keep his hand.

He closes his eyes as the lift begins to move.

This is spiraling so far beyond his control.

  
  
  


He wakes in the middle of the night, hard.

The remnants of his dream linger — long fingers and pale thighs, the tantalizing dimples at the base of a muscled spine. Half asleep, he fumbles through the sheets and curls his fingers around his swollen length. He's wet enough at the tip that he can smooth it down and begin to stroke.

Sinking back halfway into slumber, the images become more disjointed, yet more vivid at the same time. Parting lips and a welcoming smile— he brings his knees up, hips bucking — the long graceful slope of Yuuri’s back — Yuuri — his long fingers curling around Viktor’s cock and brown eyes determined and defiant.

_ Viktor,  _ he says.

Viktor has to bite into the back of his hand to stifle the cry as he begins to come. His hips spasm upwards and he turns his face into the pillows, thighs clamping tight around his fist as wetness spurts over his stomach — once, twice. He eases as the spasms calm, panting quietly into the sheets.

The guilt comes quickly after that. God, what is he doing? What has he  _ done? _

He stumbles out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom. When he looks at himself in the mirror, the shadows under his eyes are dark and deep, and there is white splattered messily over his abdomen — evidence of his guilt. He pushes his soiled boxers to the floor and steps into the bathtub.

The water, when it hits him, is cold. He grits his teeth and clumsily scrubs the come from his skin. When he’s done, he dries himself off perfunctorily and collapses back in bed.

The dreams swoop quickly down upon him. In his dreams, he steps up against Yuuri’s naked back, arms going around his hips, and then reaches down between Yuuri’s thighs. Yuuri’s neck arches long and tantalizing, his head thrown back against Viktor’s shoulder. Yuuri’s thighs are pale as moonlight, curving up into shadow between the tantalizing swell of his rump. Again, he reaches into the sheets and grips himself. A moan escapes his lips as he imagines how it would feel to press himself between the smooth cheeks of Yuuri’s arse— how it would feel to rub up against that intimate place where his body opens.

He snaps awake then, flustered and frustrated. He pushes the sheets off him, feeling unbearably warm, but it does nothing to cool the fire inside him. He rolls over and tries to go back to sleep, but immediately begins to dream again of Yuuri. 

Biting down into Yuuri’s shoulder, the graceful arch of Yuuri’s back as he bends down over the desk in Viktor’s office — pushing up, between his legs, into the dark space between his thighs — warm —  _ wet. _

He snaps awake again and is immediately filled with guilt. No — he can't. He closes his eyes but — he knows that if he sleeps, he will only dream of Yuuri. He closes his hand around his cock again. The fantasy of Yuuri comes back, his eyes sultry as he peers back over his shoulder. Viktor grabs his hips, pushing into him and — no — he can't think of Yuuri like that. He can't.

The scene changes. Instead, Viktor is on his back, Yuuri looming over him. He reaches down between Viktor’s legs and — Viktor fumbles for his bedside drawer. Something falls over as he yanks it open and rummages within. His fingers close around a familiar tube. He opens the snap cap and squeezes out a generous dollop onto his finger before reaching down. The fantasy of Yuuri pushes Viktor’s thighs up and out, spreading him open with a hungry look.

Moaning hard, louder than he would strictly be comfortable with if he were fully awake, Viktor circles his wet fingers around his rim. Impatiently, he pushes two fingers in, and bites down on his pillow case to stifle the groan of pain. He hasn't touched himself like this since he’d been a teen but— the stretch, the feeling of fullness — he throws his head back against the pillows as he begins to thrust his fingers hard and fast. 

In his fantasy, Yuuri bends over him, mouthing up along his throat as he thrusts hard between Viktor’s thighs. Viktor reaches down with his free hand and spreads himself open, thrusting his fingers harder but craving something thicker —

_ “Yuuri,” _ he sobs,  _ “Yuuri.” _

Dream Yuuri bites down on his lobe.

_ Fuck,  _ he whispers into Viktor’s ear,  _ you’re beautiful. _

Viktor turns his head, sobbing Yuuri’s name into his pillows as he comes. His cock spurts against his wrist, and his other hand flies up to grab his cock, stroking the rest of his orgasm out against his belly.

His whole body goes lax, and he lays there panting for a few moments before he opens his eyes. He looks at his hand, rubbing his sticky fingers together, then closes his eyes again, feeling a little ill. He drapes one wrist over his forehead.

_ What _ is he  _ doing? _

_ God. _

He rolls insistently over, and goes back to sleep.

  
  
  


When the clerk comes for him again at the end of the month, he goes without much fanfare. The First Assistant Commissioner sits in the same office, the same evaluation form in front of him. He smiles as Viktor comes in through the door.

“Sit,” he says warmly, gesturing at the chair opposite him. Viktor does. The First Assistant Commissioner scribbles something at the top of the form. “So how’s your progress been with the prototype?” he asks absently.

Viktor swallows past the lump in his throat.

“We’ve progressed a fair deal,” he says.

He looks down at his hands, picking at the skin around his nails. Yuuri has only gotten— more  _ touchy,  _ more stubborn, more determined. Then, all of a sudden, he’d begun withdrawing. He’s been quiet lately, just watching Viktor with that furrow between his brows. Viktor had continued trying to get him to talk to other people for awhile, but Yuuri had seemed ultimately uninterested.

_ I don’t like talking to strangers,  _ he’d said.

_ But you’re okay with me,  _ Viktor had pointed out.

Yuuri had shot him a disbelieving look.

_ You’re not a stranger,  _ he’d said.

Viktor sighs, coming back to the present. He smiles apologetically up at the First Assistant Commissioner, who’s waiting patiently with his hands folded under his chin.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m a little tired. I’ve been trying to get him to talk to more people, other than me, but I’ve seemed to reach a block. He can be reticent at times.”

“Do you think he’s hiding any memories from you?” the First Assistant Commissioner asks, “You’ve said multiple times that he’s reticent—”

“Oh no,” Viktor blurts, wincing, “He’s— he doesn’t lie about things.”

The First Assistant Commissioner blinks at him, face clear of any expression. Viktor quickly thinks over his next words.

“I think he’s recalling some things,” he admits, “— but only in flashes! He can’t really make anything out of them. We’ve been trying to talk about them, but they just seem to confuse him.”

“I see,” the First Assistant Commissioner says, noting that down on the form, “It’s been a slow two or three months, hasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor says.

The First Assistant Commissioner smiles, closed-eyed.

“No need to apologize,” he says. He opens his eyes, smile still on his face. For the first time, Viktor notices that his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The First Assistant Commissioner tilts his head pleasantly. “I just hope to hear… actual results from you, next time.”

He puts down his pen, and then slides the evaluation slip into a folder by the side of his desk, still smiling.

“I’ll see you next month,” he says.

“Right,” Viktor says, and quickly gets out of his seat, “See you.”

He hurriedly exits the room, strangely shaken. Had he— had he imagined that cold look in the First Assistant Commissioner’s eyes? He reaches into his bag and pulls out his pass as he steps into the lift. His hands shake as he taps it against the scanner.

_ Keep it together,  _ he snaps at himself. The man had been polite.

He presses the button for the research floor, and then stuffs his pass back into his bag. He’d probably been imagining the threatening tone during those last few moments. Shaking his head, he draws his sleeve over his face roughly as the lift doors open, before he begins to set off purposely towards his office.

He has to pull his pass out of his bag again then —  _ why did he put it away to begin with?  _ before he can tap himself into the office.

“Yuuri,” he begins.

Across the room, Yuuri stands up. There’s a look on his face that—

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Yuuri shakes his head, strangely distressed.

“I remember where the house is,” he says.

  
  
  


They take a shuttle to the Outer Capitol. Yuuri presses himself into a corner the whole time, eyebrows furrowed together, eyes far away. It’s quiet this time of day, the shuttle mostly empty. At each station, an automated voice reads out the name of the station. Yuuri stares out the window at the storm clouds gathering over squat rooftops. Even from out here, Viktor can see the Bodypolitik building towering over Central Capitol, its one glittering eye blinking pensively over the sprawling cityscape.

_ Old Parliament,  _ the automated voice reads eventually,  _ Old Parliament. _

Yuuri stands up then, and Viktor follows him out of the shuttle. They alight in an old square. Yuuri points up at the ivory statue that towers above them. It’s Lady Justice, wielding a sword in one hand and holding a set of scales in the other, blindfolded.

“Mari’s brother used to play in this square,” Yuuri says, “I remembered this statue. I checked the internet and there are only two statues like this. One in front of the Bodypolitik compound — and this one. I knew it had to be here.”

They head down a narrow alley. Yuuri seems to know the way, weaving confidently in and out of the different lanes. Viktor follows behind him, eyes trailing over the places where the paint peels on the concrete beside them. The buildings here are squat and rundown, the roofs just a few overlapping sheets of aluminum. He wonders if they would leak if it rained inside the Dome.

Finally, they emerge on a wide pavement that leads down a row of shophouses. At the end of the pavement— is the house that Yuuri had described. It’s older than Viktor had expected, rickety and precarious, but the roof is still that bright terracotta red.

There’s a small wooden gate at the front, which Yuuri pushes open, before continuing down the stone path to the front door. There’s a long wooden sign by the side of the path.

_ Yuutopia Home for Disabled Children,  _ it reads.

Yuuri glances at it for a moment, brow furrowing, before he pulls on the bell string by the front door.

The bell rings low and loud.

For a long moment, there is no other sound. Then, the sound of rushed footsteps patter down creaky wooden stairs. The door opens slightly. A pretty young woman peers out from behind the door, looking vaguely confused.

“Hello,” Viktor says, when Yuuri doesn’t say anything, “We’re— looking for the owners of this place. Sorry to drop by unannounced.”

The young woman makes an absent gesture over her chest, almost as if to herself, and Yuuri’s eyes widen. She looks up at Viktor again, and then finally opens the door fully, gesturing for them to follow her in. She leads them to what must be the common area. There are plush armchairs crowded around a low table in front of a fireplace. There is a tea set on the table.

She makes another quick sign that Viktor doesn’t catch or understand, then leaves the room.

“She’s mute,” Yuuri says.

_ Oh,  _ Viktor thinks.

He sits down at the table as Yuuri wanders over to the walls, looking over the framed pictures mounted up. Each of them is a group portrait of different children, all seated in neat rows as if for a class photo. That probably isn’t too far off, Viktor reflects, considering the sign that’d been hung up in front of the house.  _ Yuutopia Home for Disabled Children.  _ These must be the children that had previously stayed here.

The numbers seem to slowly decrease from right to left. The last seems to be a family portrait. Yuuri stops in front of it. He stares at it for a long moment, gaze unreadable. Slowly, Viktor stands, and goes over to him.

In the photo, there is a man and a woman, smiling. They have their arms around a girl— unmistakably a young Mari— pressed cheek to cheek with a child she’s holding in her lap.

The child looks like Yuuri.

Footsteps clatter down the stairs. They turn as the owners arrive with the young woman who had let them in. They are the man and woman in the picture— Mari’s parents. The young woman signs something quick at the two of them, and then leaves the room.

The man and woman are looking at Yuuri, eyes wide. They look at each other, and then back at Yuuri, and then make a discreet sign. Yuuri’s eyes fixate on their hands, his frown only deepening.

“Are you okay?” Viktor whispers.

Yuuri shakes his head. The couple turns back towards them before he can speak. They are smiling, eyes on Yuuri, as they sit down at the table, but there’s a tension around their eyes and mouths. They look just as confused as Yuuri.

“Hello,” the woman greets, “Welcome! What brings you here?”

“My name is Viktor,” Viktor answers, “This is Yuuri.”

The man makes a sharp gesture at the woman. Yuuri’s eyes drop immediately to his hands. The woman shakes her head at him, putting her hand on top of his, and then turns back to them with a smile.

“And where are you from?” she asks, “How did you come to this place?”

Her eyes are fixed solely on Yuuri.

“I worked with Mari at the Bodypolitik,” Yuuri says, straightforward.

The man begins to sign at her again, urgently, and this time, she begins to sign back. Yuuri’s eyes widen at the silent conversation, before he stands up, slamming his hands down on the table between them.

“I can  _ see  _ you,” he snaps, and shakes his head, eyes pained, “I can  _ understand you!” _

The woman stands up at once, paling.

“I am sorry,” she apologizes at once, “I did not mean—”

“Yuuri!” Viktor cries, shocked, as Yuuri turns and runs out of the room. He stands and runs out into the foyer, just in time to see the front door slam shut. He throws it open and runs out through the front yard and onto the main road. He can see Yuuri standing in one of the side alleys, bent over with his hands on his knees. He slows to a walk.

“Yuuri,” he calls again, sadly. Yuuri doesn’t react, just remains bent over with his hands on his knees. Viktor reaches out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yuuri, are you okay?”

Yuuri shakes his head.

“They think I’m their son,” he manages.

Viktor comes around slowly to Yuuri’s front, holding Yuuri gently by the shoulders. He doesn’t really understand what’s happening, but he can tell that them mistaking him as their son is really upsetting Yuuri. He tries to bend down to peek up at Yuuri’s face.

“It’s probably just a misunderstanding,” he soothes, “Maybe Mari influenced the engineer who built you, and you ended up looking like her?”

Yuuri shakes his head again, but before he can respond, the man and the woman come running out of the house.

“We’re very sorry,” the man says, bowing.

“Please just give us a moment,” the woman pleads.

“Fine,” Yuuri says.

They follow the man and woman back into the house. Viktor slides one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, rubbing comfortingly at his arm as they walk, but Yuuri doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at the ground in front of him.

They sit back down at the table. The woman smiles, hesitantly, at the two of them.

“You’re not our Yuuri,” she whispers, “Are you?”

“No,” Yuuri says, flatly, “I’m an android that Mari built in your son’s image, a classified government project.”

The woman sags in her seat, looking suddenly tired, suddenly older than she’d been moments ago. Her husband puts his hand over hers, and they smile sadly at each other. She turns back towards Yuuri with a sad smile.

“We thought that may have been the case,” she admits.

“I am in possession of some of your son’s memories,” Yuuri continues, “I came to ask if you know how that may have come to be.”

The woman looks at her husband again. He nods at her. She turns to give Yuuri a somewhat pitying look, before she stands.

“Please wait here,” she says.

Viktor catches Yuuri’s shoulder as she leaves the room, leaning forward to look him in the face. Yuuri’s face is completely blank, but from the tension in his jaw and mouth, Viktor can tell that he is upset — very upset.

“Yuuri,” he whispers, putting a hand on Yuuri’s knee, “Are you okay?”

Yuuri closes his eyes. After a moment, he shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says.

Viktor puts an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and draws him gently to him. Yuuri allows Viktor to pull him to his chest. He tilts his head briefly against Viktor’s as Viktor rubs soothingly at his arm, but pulls away as the woman comes back, carrying a small wooden box.

She sits down again opposite them, setting the box gently on the table. Yuuri leans forward as she opens it slowly.

Inside, there is a removed biochip.

Viktor has never seen a biochip outside of a human body before. Being so deeply integrated with a person’s body, a biochip cannot be removed without killing the human host. He can’t help but lean forward, curious — and somewhat morbidly so. There are thin wires coming out of the biochip on all sides. They are probably what embeds the biochip to the central nervous system.

“Our Yuuri was killed in an accident when he was just five,” the woman explains sadly, “He stepped out in front of a shuttle that was taking off. He didn’t hear it coming. Mari was crushed. She loved him so much — so much that she broke into the morgue before his cremation, and stole his biochip.”

She picks it up, and shows it to Yuuri.

“His memories are contained in the biochip,” she continues, “Mari soon became deeply obsessed with artificial intelligence. She believed that by embedding his memories into suitably advanced AI technology, she could bring Yuuri back.”

Yuuri stands up.

Startled, Viktor looks up at him, but his face is completely, inhumanly, blank. Without a word, he turns, and walks out of the room. Viktor quickly rises as well.

“Thank you,” he says, nodding to the man and woman, before he takes off after Yuuri. He catches up with Yuuri outside of the house. Yuuri is sitting on the front step, face in his hands. “Yuuri,” he murmurs sadly, crouching beside him. Yuuri does not look up.  _ “Yuuri.” _

Yuuri shakes his head, slowly.

“Take me home,” he whispers, “I don’t want to stay here a moment longer.”

  
  
  


They spend the shuttle ride back to the office in silence. Yuuri says nothing for the whole trip, just sits bent over with his face in his hands. He doesn’t even cry. Viktor sits beside him with one hand rubbing up and down his back. They get a few looks, but luckily, no one tries to talk to them or ask what’s wrong.

When they reach the office, Viktor sits down on the mat and pulls Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri turns his face into Viktor’s neck as Viktor buries his face in Yuuri’s hair, pressing his lips discreetly to Yuuri’s temple. He closes his eyes, breathing in and out slowly.

Finally, his watch beeps. It’s time to go home.

Yuuri draws back from him, and speaks for the first time since they had left the Outer Capitol.

“You should go,” he says, tiredly.

“I’m staying with you,” Viktor whispers.

Yuuri’s face crumples. He puts his face in his hands, shaking his head.

“Why?” he croaks, “Just go. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not leaving your side when you’re feeling like this.”

Yuuri chuckles, and then sobs. “Why does it matter how I feel?” he manages, and sobs again, “It’s just a lie. It’s all a lie. I’m just a big fat lie.”

“Yuuri—” Viktor begins.

Yuuri finally looks up. Viktor reaches out to cup his face, but he turns his face away.

“I’m  _ not like you,  _ Viktor,” he says forcefully, “Didn’t you  _ hear  _ what they said? I’m just— I’m just an injected personality. There is no me. There is only him.”

“That’s not how this works, Yuuri,” Viktor says, “Memories don’t integrate into technology like that. You aren’t him.”

“I know I’m not him,” Yuuri snaps.

Viktor reaches for him again, but Yuuri twists his shoulder out of his grip, and stands up. He stops at the window overlooking the Capitol, lowering his head.

“I’m less than him,” he whispers. “I’m just a shadow, a ghost, a shell. I’m not human. I don’t have a soul. I am the memories of a  _ five-year-old  _ child, a piece of borrowed humanity, looping endlessly over a few lines of code.”

Viktor shakes his head vehemently.

“You are more than the memory of him,” he says.

Yuuri chuckles. The sound breaks into a quiet whimper as his face crumples again. He turns away, putting a hand over his eyes. “Then what am I?” he asks miserably, voice heartrendingly small.

Viktor closes his eyes. It feels like inside his chest there is a hollow aching space where his lungs are meant to be.

_ “Everything,” _ he whispers hoarsely.

He shakes his head, smiling sadly, as Yuuri turns to look at him.

“It doesn’t matter to me what you are,” he continues in a croak, “It doesn’t matter to me where you came from, or where you’ll go. It doesn’t matter to me whether or not you have a soul. There is only one thing certain to me and that is that I—”

He turns his face away, unable to finish.

Yuuri takes a step forward.

“That you what?” he asks.

Viktor shakes his head, face still tilted away. Yuuri crouches down in front of him, gripping him by both shoulders as he peers up into Viktor’s face.

“That you  _ what?”  _ he asks, a little more shrilly, giving Viktor a little shake.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says hoarsely, “You know we can’t—”

With a noise of exasperation, Yuuri surges up against him, finally,  _ finally, _ pressing their lips together. Viktor lets his lids fall closed. There had already been a part deep inside him that had known that this was what Yuuri wanted from him. There had already been a part of him that knew that he wanted this too. He’d known from the beginning, though, that Yuuri deserved better than this.

He turns his face away. Yuuri collapses against him, panting shortly against his cheek, forehead pressed to his temple.

“Why?” he whispers.

“We shouldn’t,” Viktor says.

“But I love you.”

Viktor screws his eyes shut.

“That’s because I’m all you’ve ever known,” he manages, somehow, “That’s not fair to you, Yuuri. I can’t — I can’t take advantage of you like this. I can’t let you choose this when you could have  _ so much better.  _ Yuuri. Yuuri, you  _ deserve the world,  _ but you want me because you haven’t seen what’s out there waiting for you.”

“I don’t want the world,” Yuuri croaks, and kisses him at the corner of his lips.

Viktor manages to get an arm between them, pushing Yuuri away.

“You could do so much better,” he continues, “You could— you could have someone you could be with openly, who no one could scorn you for. You could have—”

“I don’t want any of that.”

Viktor grabs Yuuri by the shoulders.

“Yuuri, listen to me,” he says roughly, “You could have it  _ all.  _ You don’t need me.”

“But I don’t want it all!” Yuuri snaps, and then sobs, “I just want you.”

Viktor tries to stand up, but Yuuri catches his arm, pulling him back down.

“Yuuri—” he begins.

“I want you,” Yuuri says fiercely, “Don’t you want me too?”

Viktor sighs, closing his eyes as he sits back down. “You know I do,” he says miserably, “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Then  _ why?” _

“You  _ know  _ that it’s prohibited here, Yuuri. I’ve told you this.”

“We can keep it a secret.”

“Yuuri—” Viktor begins exasperatedly, and then sighs, feeling abruptly tired. “You know,” he tries from a different angle, “When I was a teen, I was quite the deviant?”

Yuuri frowns, confused at the sudden change of topic.

“No,” he says. “You don’t like talking about it.”

“Yes, and for good reason.” Viktor laughs. “I was always toeing the line, keeping my hair long, wearing all these things that, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have been wearing as a boy, flirting with other boys just to make them blush. There was this one senior in school who I had the  _ biggest  _ crush on, though. He was two years my senior and a huge, dumb jock. But at that time, I thought he was really cool, and he clearly thought I was pretty. He was always  _ looking  _ at me, you know?”

Yuuri blinks slowly.

“Mmm,” he intones, without expression.

Viktor chuckles, guessing his thoughts easily.

“No need for jealousy,” he teases. “I eventually confessed to him and— well, he didn’t take it well. He rejected me, and then— he told the rest of the school about it? I think at that time the teachers were all turning a blind eye to me, but the moment it got out that I had  _ actually  _ made a move on another boy, it was something serious.” He shrugs. “There was— a big investigation. They were talking about sending me to a rehabilitative center. It was pretty serious. Fortunately, Yakov coached me carefully on my responses and we managed to have it dismissed as a rumor gone too far, but— we both agreed that I needed to be withdrawn from school. I cut my hair then, and started dressing more like a boy — started playing by the rules.”

“Rules are overrated,” Yuuri cuts in.

“Rules have  _ consequences _ , Yuuri,” Viktor sighs, “That’s the moral of this story.”

“There are some things worth breaking rules over.”

“Not when the  _ consequences _ —”

“There are some things  _ worth  _ the consequences.”

Viktor sighs again.

“Like what, Yuuri?” he asks tiredly, “What could possibly be worth all that?”

Yuuri leans in and kisses him again—

And his heart weakens.

His heart has long been weakened by Yuuri and his damned stubbornness. 

For a moment, he allows himself to enjoy this, to enjoy the scent of Yuuri, the soft press of Yuuri’s body to his, the achingly beautiful way that Yuuri fits in his arms like a missing puzzle piece slipping finally into place.

Yuuri cups his face with both hands, drawing back.

“Like this,” he whispers.

Viktor has to avert his eyes, the honesty in Yuuri’s gaze too much— but Yuuri holds him fast.

“Look at me?” he pleads.

Viktor does, and—

Yuuri’s face softens into a tender smile.

When Yuuri leans in again, he can’t help but lean forward to meet him. Their lips slot together and inside, his heart begins quivering to pieces, trembling slowly apart as he gasps desperately into Yuuri’s mouth, gripping at the front of his shirt. Yuuri slides easily into his lap.

“Yuuri,” he mumbles.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Yuuri whispers against his lips, and pulls back to undo the top button of Viktor’s shirt. Viktor kisses his shoulder, something unnameable swelling in his chest as he tugs at the hem of Yuuri’s shirt. Yuuri releases Viktor’s collar to raise his arms. Viktor pulls the shirt off and tosses it somewhere off to the side, before Yuuri surges in to kiss him again, his clever fingers progressing slowly down the buttons of Viktor’s shirt. Viktor spreads his hands out over the bare skin of Yuuri’s back. His skin is warm to the touch, and vibrating very faintly, so faintly he would never have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.

Yuuri finally pulls Viktor’s shirt open and throws it off his shoulders. Viktor manages to yank it down his arms without looking, but it gets caught at his wrists.

He didn’t unbutton the cuffs.

Yuuri tugs, and a moment later, his cuffs become irrelevant. He can vaguely hear the buttons clattering off somewhere as Yuuri tosses the shirt aside, but he can’t bring himself to care very much about that. Yuuri sighs, leaning in to press a trail of soft kisses down the side of his neck.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, pushing Yuuri back. Yuuri pulls away from him questioningly. Viktor pushes his shoulders, and he goes down onto his back. Viktor smiles, shyly. “I want to see you,” he says.

Yuuri smiles back as Viktor draws his eyes down his bare chest. He’s— thought a lot about this— a lot more than he’s comfortable admitting to.

The reality is infinitely better.

He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to the center of Yuuri’s chest, where his heart would be if he were human. He is taken aback by the sudden sound of quiet whirring. Yuuri makes an embarrassed noise and covers his face. Viktor looks up at him. After a moment, a slow smile begins spreading across his face.

“Yuuri~” he croons teasingly. “Are  _ you  _ making that sound?”

Yuuri shoves at his shoulder, and Viktor begins to laugh.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Yuuri peeks slowly out at him. He smiles.

“I love you too.”

Viktor has to lean down to kiss him again at that. He can feel Yuuri’s smile against his mouth and— it’s a good feeling. It’s an exceedingly good feeling. Yuuri crosses one leg over the back of his thigh and draws his ankle down Viktor’s calf. As they part from each other, he hooks his thumbs into Viktor’s waistband.

“May I?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Viktor kisses Yuuri again as he fumbles at the button of Viktor jeans, before finally reaching in to grip Viktor in his fist. With a little whine, Viktor presses his face into Yuuri’s shoulder. He can feel himself hardening in Yuuri’s hand. He rolls over obligingly as Yuuri pushes at his shoulder, and Yuuri swings one leg over him and sits on his thighs. He can't help the blush at the way Yuuri stares down at him then, a strangely fascinated look on his face.

“Does this feel good?” Yuuri asks, and strokes slowly upward.

“Yes,” Viktor manages, and gasps when Yuuri twists his fist over the head,  _ “Fuck.” _

“The head is more sensitive than the rest?”

“Yes,” Viktor says again, and whimpers, “Yuuri. Please. Can you— please?”

Yuuri pulls down on the foreskin, exposing the head, and puts his thumb right at the spot where it meets the shaft — where Viktor is most sensitive. Viktor’s hips twitch up involuntarily, and when Yuuri begins to rub up and down rapidly at that same spot, he throws his head back with a cry. It's— too sudden— too  _ much _ .

One hand flies down instinctively to push against Yuuri’s thigh, but Yuuri doesn't even seem to notice. His eyes have gone dark, gaze intent.

“Yuuri,” Viktor gasps, before his stomach clenches, and he begins, unexpectedly, to come, “Oh  _ fuck. Fuck.” _

He grabs Yuuri’s wrist. Yuuri immediately stops what he's doing with a deer-in-the-headlights look. Whining piteously at the sudden lack of stimulation, Viktor quickly closes his hand around Yuuri’s, and directs him to stroke the rest of his orgasm out over his stomach, much more gently than before. Once the last of the spasms die, he flops back against the mat, panting harshly.

“God,” he gasps, and closes his eyes, “ _ God.  _ That was—”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says immediately, “Was it bad?”

“No!” Viktor blurts out, “No, it was good. It was just— intense. Much more intense than I was expecting.”

Yuuri still looks a little sheepish, so Viktor sits up, reaching to the side until he finds his shirt, and wipes it over the mess on his stomach. That done, he throws it aside again and presses a kiss to the corner of Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri sighs. Smiling against Yuuri’s lips, he smooths one hand down over Yuuri’s chest towards the buckle of his pants.

“Your turn now,” he murmurs.

To his surprise, Yuuri immediately catches his wrist, leaning slightly backward.

“About that,” he says, and drops his eyes.

“What's wrong?” Viktor asks, frowning.

Yuuri winces. “We don't,” he says faintly, “have the same parts.”

Viktor blinks.

“Same parts?” he repeats dumbly.

Yuuri huffs out a breath, and then guides Viktor’s hand towards his crotch. Viktor freezes a little as his hand smooths down over Yuuri’s pelvis. There is no bulge. He quickly undoes the buckle, and reaches in—

— but his hand just sweeps over smooth skin.

He looks up at Yuuri, who is watching him with a nervous look on his face. Viktor tugs lightly at the waist of Yuuri’s pants.

“May I?”

Yuuri kneels up so that Viktor can pull his pants and boxers down.

He is met with a flat expanse of skin where— where Yuuri’s genitals should be.

He stares for a moment, numb.

“Viktor,” Yuuri begins, flustered, at his silence.

Viktor puts his palm flat against Yuuri’s pubic bone. It feels— like human skin, human flesh over bone. He is thrumming slightly, warm, and—

Yuuri catches his hand, and guides it down, under, between his thighs. There’s some kind of opening there, amidst smooth, dry skin.

“Obviously,” he continues, still flustered, “I was being built in the image of a female human up until the Bodypolitik acquired me from my original creator. When I came into Mari’s care, she must have asked that I be male, and so he must have made the rest of me male but… stopped working around the groin area after that. There had probably been no purpose for him to equip me with a fully functioning— you know. But I do have an inner sleeve because of my initial purpose, so we can— we can still—”

He cuts himself off there, too embarrassed to finish.

Viktor swallows. He’s still not sure what to think. He's still—

“Can I—”

He isn't really sure what he's asking yet, but Yuuri is already nodding enthusiastically.

“Anything you want,” he says.

Viktor hesitates for a moment longer, before sliding his fingers slowly in. It's— perfectly smooth on the inside, perfectly dry. It feels just like the skin on the outside, just as warm, and just as firm. He takes his fingers out and feels around the outside. There is no labia, like there would be on a woman. There are no folds. It's just smooth skin.

“Does it feel pleasurable?” Viktor asks, and his voice comes out strangely detached, like it's someone else speaking.

Yuuri shrugs. “I don't think I feel pleasure in the same way you do,” he admits, “But it's always felt nice when I’ve touched myself. I’ve—” He fidgets a little, averting his eyes. “I’ve always wanted it to be you.”

“Can you come?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri shrugs again. “I don't know,” he says, “I don't really think so. If I can, I haven't been able to yet, by myself.”

Viktor feels sick. Slowly, he withdraws his hand. Yuuri is looking up at him, biting his lip, but Viktor can't— he shakes his head and puts his face in his hands. This— How could—

Yuuri draws away, face shuttering.

“So what,” he says flatly, “You don't want me anymore? Is that it? Just because I don't have the same parts as you?”

His voice is trembling. He turns his face away abruptly, a sob punching out of him. Viktor immediately sits up and gathers him into his arms.

“I want you,” he says, “I've loved you so long, Yuuri, I— how could something like this change the way I feel about you?”

Yuuri turns his face up, kissing Viktor soundly.

“I want you too,” he whispers, but Viktor resists when he tries to pull them both down onto the mat again. Yuuri draws back, looking confused and a little hurt.

“Yuuri,” Viktor chokes, “We don't  _ need _ to have sex, you know that right?”

Yuuri frowns.

“But I want to,” he insists.

“I can't take advantage of you like this,” Viktor frets, “I can't  _ use _ you like— It’s wrong. It's so wrong how they made you Yuuri, that they just— took away your ability to feel pleasure because it wasn't relevant to what they wanted out of you—”

“I feel pleasure,” Yuuri interrupts, “Just not in the way you do. Do you know how many times I've touched myself, thinking of you?”

“Yuuri—” Viktor begins.

_ “Viktor!” _ Yuuri snaps, but softens a little with an exasperated sigh. “Why don't you believe me when I say that I want this?” he asks, “Why don't you believe me when I say I will enjoy it, even if not in the way that you would? Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I—”

Yuuri puts a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he urges, before he smiles, tenderly, “Because I trust you, Viktor. I trust you completely.”

That earnest confession takes Viktor’s breath away. Yuuri cups his cheek, still smiling fondly, and slowly, Viktor begins to smile back.

A loud beep.

Yuuri freezes.

The life goes suddenly out of his eyes as he slumps forward. Viktor tries to catch him, surprised, but the weight of him forces Viktor onto his back.

“Yuuri?”

There's no response. 

One of Viktor’s arms is trapped behind his back from where he had tried to prop himself up, and failed. He tries to push up against Yuuri’s shoulder with the other hand, but Yuuri is a firm, heavy weight over him.

“Yuuri,” he says, more commandingly, “Power up.”

Yuuri does not move.

He pushes up against Yuuri again with his free arm. Yuuri does not budge at all.

“Yuuri?” he calls again, worry growing.

There is still no response.

With some difficulty, he manages to extract his trapped arm, and pushes up against Yuuri’s slumped shoulders with both arms. He manages to sit up, gathering Yuuri into the crook of his arm. Yuuri’s head lolls lifelessly into his shoulder, brown eyes perfectly flat.

“Yuuri!” he calls more hysterically, shaking Yuuri by the shoulders,  _ “Yuuri!” _

A beep.

Yuuri blinks.

Awareness creeps slowly back into his eyes as he sits up, looking confused and disoriented.

“Viktor?”

The relief that sweeps through Viktor is all consuming. He pulls Yuuri into his arms fiercely, burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I thought I lost you for a moment,” he whispers.

Yuuri hugs him back, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s hair.

“What happened?” he asks.

Viktor pulls back, sobering up.

“Can I take a look at your code?”

Yuuri nods. Viktor taps at his watch, bringing a screen up as Yuuri shifts over to sit beside him. Yuuri reaches out and presses his palm against the screen when prompted.

Immediately, a red star flashes onto the screen, so fast and so bright that it leaves an imprint in Viktor’s vision when he flinches away. The star disappears in a split second, before a long sequence of letters and numbers roll across the screen, too quickly for Viktor to really process or remember. When it’s finished, the screen reverts back to Yuuri’s coding.

Viktor taps on the screen, but the sequence does not appear again. When he clicks to Yuuri’s logs— it's the same nonsensical error log from before, the one that he still cannot figure out the source of.

“What was that?” he demands.

Yuuri puts a hand on his forearm, and Viktor turns to him as he looks up at Viktor seriously.

“A message,” he says.

“I missed it completely,” Viktor says, growing slightly frantic, “Do you think we could make it repeat again? Do you remember what the first few letters were at least? Maybe we could—”

Yuuri blinks.

“SH98TZ251BN76W—” he begins to recite.

“Okay,” Viktor says, raising one palm, a little overwhelmed, “So instant photographic memory. Got it. Do you know what it means, though?”

“No,” Yuuri admits.

Viktor sighs, slumping gloomily.

“Neither do I,” he laments.

“Well, we need to figure it out,” Yuuri says firmly, “That message  _ had  _ to be from Mari. She must have programmed it to appear as I regained my memories. She  _ must _ have discovered something that she wanted to leave to me.”

Viktor bites his lip. “She probably uncovered something about the Bodypolitik’s plans that they didn't want her knowing,” he agrees, “If so, this message could reveal the truth behind her death, and tell us what the Bodypoltik wants with us.”

Yuuri looks away suddenly, a disquieted look in his eye. Confused, Viktor puts a hand over his on the mat. Yuuri turns at the touch, and Viktor leans in, kissing him once on the lips in silent comfort. Yuuri smiles at him sadly.

“Do you think,” he begins, “it might tell us more about the original Yuuri?”

_ “Yuuri,” _ Viktor sighs.

Yuuri chuckles, turning away.

“I need to know, Viktor,” he whispers, “I need to know how I was created. I need to know if it was his memories that— if I’m just—”

His voice breaks. Viktor pulls him to his chest, pressing kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Yuuri turns his face against Viktor’s cheek with a little sigh.

“I need to know who I am,” he insists.

Viktor turns his face into Yuuri’s, kissing him again on the lips, and sighs again.

“Then,” he says, “I guess we better start cracking.”

Yuuri draws back, looking a little surprised. Viktor chuckles.

“Hey,” he says, “You think that that code can tell you more about how you were made, right? It doesn't matter to me how you were made, but it matters to  _ you,  _ and since I'm going to stay by your side, every step of the way, we’re in this together now.”

Yuuri’s face softens into a wondering smile, soft and sweet.

“You always meet me where I am,” he whispers.

Viktor’s heart stutters. Yuuri’s smile, in itself, is worth  _ everything.  _ He plants one last kiss on Yuuri’s lips, before he draws back, tapping on his watch to bring up a new blank document.

“Come here,” he says, “Recite that sequence for me again.”

 


	7. The Honeymoon Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!
> 
> There is sexual content at the beginning of this chapter. They also go shopping for sex toys at the end of the chapter.

**** It is quiet in the room, save for the persistent squeaking of Yuuri’s thumb over a corner of the mat. He doesn't seem to have realized he’s doing it yet. He's just staring at the mat in front of him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Every once in awhile, when he thinks Viktor isn't looking, he'll glance up at Viktor.

Viktor averts his eyes each time, looking down at the screen in front of him. He's got the sequence written down on a blank document and has made maybe two lines of notes, but he’s done little else. He can feel his face heating a little under Yuuri’s stare. When he finally musters up the courage to meet Yuuri’s gaze, Yuuri looks away quickly.

Viktor looks back at his screen. Yuuri stares down at the mat. 

The weight of the something that's just happened, the something new between them, hangs heavy in the quiet room. Viktor’s shirt lies crumpled and stiff with spend in a corner, and Viktor is wearing one of Yuuri’s shirts. It's tight around the shoulders where Yuuri is narrower, and the hem keeps riding up. They sit in silence for a few more minutes, unsure now of what to do, until Viktor’s watch beeps. Viktor looks down at his wrist, and finally clears his throat.

“I need to go,” he says.

He puts one palm on the mat, about to push himself up, but freezes as Yuuri’s puts a hand over his. Yuuri blinks, looking a little surprised by his own action. After a few moments, Viktor turns his palm up, twining their fingers together, and Yuuri smiles shyly.

“Stay?” he asks, and Viktor bites his lip.

“I'm going to miss the last shuttle,” he says reluctantly.

“Stay,” Yuuri asks again.

Viktor hesitates for only a moment longer.

“Alright,” he acquiesces.

A smile immediately begins stretching across Yuuri’s lips. He looks back down at the mat, flushed and pleased, and Viktor is emboldened enough by that to lean in close, kissing him on the cheek. Yuuri looks at him for a moment, achingly fond, before kissing him on the lips once, chaste. One kiss turns to two, then three, before Yuuri slides his arms around Viktor’s neck, lips parting against Viktor’s. Yuuri’s lips are soft and plush against his own as the kiss deepens.

They break apart after some time, with a quiet sigh, and Yuuri smiles.

“We were in the middle of something, weren’t we?” he whispers. It takes Viktor a second to remember. When he does, his face immediately warms. Yuuri lets out a low chuckle. “Shall we pick up where we left off?”

“What do you want to do?”

Yuuri leans in, and Viktor lets his eyes fall closed as Yuuri’s lips brush lightly over his own.

“I want you,” Yuuri whispers against his lips, “Inside me.”

Viktor sucks in a breath. As he draws away, Yuuri catches his hand and slides it down into his pants, popping the button open easily with his free hand. Viktor bites his lip as his fingers brush over smooth, warm skin. With some hesitation, he presses a fingertip in gently. Yuuri is perfectly dry on the inside. He lets the finger slip out again.

“We don’t have lube,” he protests.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri assures him, “It won’t hurt me.”

Viktor laughs, a little wryly.

“Well, it’ll hurt  _ me, _ ” he points out.

“Oh,” Yuuri says.

Viktor moves when Yuuri nudges him aside. Yuuri turns and opens the cabinet behind them, before reaching into one of the drawers. He pulls out an unlabelled tube of some transparent, gel-like substance. It looks nearly full.

“Why do you have this?” Viktor blurts out.

Yuuri’s expression turns sheepish.

“I told you I’ve tried touching myself,” he says, “Online sources said that I would need this, so I bought it from a store one night after you’d left. I realized I didn’t need it after the first time.”

He holds the tube out to Viktor, and Viktor takes it. He looks at Yuuri.

“Right,” he says, a little awkwardly, and begins to reach for the waistband of Yuuri’s boxers. After a moment, he rethinks his action, and undoes his own belt buckle with trembling fingers, pulling the belt out of his belt loops and tossing it aside.

Yuuri surges forward suddenly, kissing him deeply, and pushes him onto his back. He straddles Viktor’s thighs. A whimper bursts from Viktor’s lips as he blindly reaches down to undo Viktor’s pants, pushing them down as Viktor shoves Yuuri’s boxers down his thighs. Yuuri breaks away from the kiss for a moment to kick his boxers away, before reaching into Viktor’s underwear and pulling him out. Taking the tube from Viktor, he snaps the cap open and squeezes out a generous dollop onto his palm.

“Enough?” he asks Viktor, showing him his palm.

“Yes,” Viktor croaks.

Yuuri grips Viktor’s half-hard cock, and Viktor quickly puts his hand over Yuuri’s before a repeat of last time can happen. Pleasurable as it had been, he needs to  _ actually _ last this time if he wants to get anywhere with Yuuri.

“Up and down,” he directs, demonstrating with his hand over Yuuri’s.

“Okay,” Yuuri says.

Viktor closes his eyes and lets Yuuri stroke him to full hardness. Finally, Yuuri kneels up. Viktor opens his eyes in time to see Yuuri positioning himself over Viktor. Yuuri smiles when he sees Viktor looking.

“Ready?” he asks.

The words get stuck in Viktor’s throat, so he just nods.

Yuuri presses the head of Viktor’s cock against his opening, and begins to sit down. He’s warm and soft on the inside, thrumming very faintly. Viktor’s hands fly to Yuuri’s hips as he bottoms out. His fingers are white from how tight he’s gripping Yuuri, but Yuuri just smiles, looking faintly pleased.

“Love you,” he whispers, and a lump rises in Viktor’s throat. He reaches up and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

“Thank you,” he manages, “I love you. God, I love you so much.”

“I'm here,” Yuuri says.

He leans down again for another kiss, before he finally begins to move. He is tight around Viktor, wet. Viktor whines.

“How does that feel?” Yuuri murmurs.

“Good,” Viktor gasps, “So good.”

“I've wanted to do this with you for so long,” Yuuri sighs, closing his eyes. Viktor just watches him for a moment. He looks so peaceful, rocking slowly on top of Viktor, eyes closed.

“What does it feel like for you?” Viktor asks, curious.

Yuuri opens his eyes, and smiles fondly.

“Like a warm wave washing onto the shore in summer,” he says.

Viktor doesn't actually know what that means, but he suspects it's another one of those things Yuuri’s been reading in those banned books. He sits up, pulling Yuuri’s legs around his waist.

“Can I?” he asks, pushing gently at Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri goes down onto his back without resistance, his arms around Viktor’s neck. They end up pressed together from lip to groin, Viktor rocking his hips slowly into Yuuri.

Yuuri threads his fingers into Viktor’s hair. His brown eyes are gentle as he gazes up at Viktor adoringly. He strokes soothingly over Viktor’s scalp and nape as Viktor begins to rock his hips faster, gasping, burying his face in Yuuri’s neck and closing his eyes tight against the pleasure.

“You're doing so good,” Yuuri whispers encouragingly, “Keep going.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines. He wishes he could last longer — he wishes this could last forever — but he can already feel himself approaching orgasm. Yuuri tilts his head back, sighing contentedly as Viktor bends to press a kiss along his throat. “Yuuri, I think I’m gonna come.”

“Go ahead.”

Viktor can feel himself reddening, embarrassed, but his hips are quickening. He hides his face in Yuuri’s shoulder, moaning.

“Can I come inside?”

Yuuri is stroking his back soothingly with one hand, the other tangled in Viktor’s hair.

“Yes.”

Viktor tries to stifle his cry against Yuuri’s skin, but his voice escapes despite his effort. Yuuri continues to stroke his back gently while he gasps and whines, grinding his hips down into Yuuri’s as the pleasure crests upon him blindingly — and then dissipates, leaving him feeling loose and warm.

Viktor rolls them onto their sides, still entangled, as Yuuri begins to pepper soft kisses along his neck, shoulder, and temple, arms gentle around him. Yuuri’s chest is warm and whirring very quietly from inside, the sound and sensation strangely comforting.

Viktor dozes off to the thrumming of Yuuri’s android heart.

  
  
  


When he wakes the next day, he's lying in Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri’s eyes are closed, his face peaceful. It occurs to him that he's never seen Yuuri sleeping before. Content, he presses a kiss to Yuuri’s breastbone, and then lays his cheek against Yuuri’s chest.

From where they are lying, he can see his shirt hanging over the back of a chair in the sun, apparently drying, and his pants folded up in the chair. He realizes then that he’s naked. Yuuri, however, is still in his boxers. He wonders if Yuuri had gotten up to wash the shirt and to undress him while he had been asleep. He yawns.

There's a quiet beep, and then Yuuri’s eyes open. He smiles upon seeing Viktor.

“Good morning,” he whispers.

“Good morning,” Viktor whispers back, a grin beginning to stretch uncontrollably over his face, “I love you.”

Yuuri chuckles.

“I love you too.”

Viktor presses his smile into Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri is carding his fingers slowly through Viktor’s hair, turning his face to press his lips against Viktor’s temple. Viktor closes his eyes.

“I didn't know that you could sleep too,” he says.

“I don't have to,” Yuuri admits, “But you looked so peaceful. I wanted to rest with you.”

“Then let’s rest a little more,” he murmurs drowsily, “I'm still sleepy.”

“Rest,” Yuuri chuckles, “I’ll watch over you.”

Viktor sleeps.

  
  
  


Later in the afternoon, they get up and head out into the Capitol. They'd stopped by the canteen on the way down to get sandwiches, which they take out with them to Central Park. It's a nice day out, the sky a beautiful cornflower blue for as far as they can see, clouds drifting by slowly. They sit down in the grey grass under a leafy wire tree. When Yuuri puts a hand over his, he pulls away, shooting Yuuri an apologetic look. There are other people around.

“Sorry,” Yuuri breathes, “I forgot.”

Yuuri plants his palms in the grass behind him, leaning back and tilting his head up to gaze at the sky. Viktor stares longingly at Yuuri’s hand for a moment, until Yuuri raises that hand, pointing up at a cloud.

“That cloud looks like a dinosaur,” he says.

Viktor looks up.

“That one looks like a heart,” he returns, pointing at another cloud.

Yuuri squints.

“Does it really?” he asks, “It just looks like an irregular lump of something.”

“That's what a heart looks like!” Viktor argues back, “A  _ real _ human heart looks like this.” He holds up a closed fist, squeezing rhythmically and solemnly mimicking the sounds of a heart beating. Yuuri laughs, leaning over so their shoulders bump. Viktor can't help but smile back.

They stay there in the grass for a couple hours, just watching the clouds and talking, talking about everything and nothing, talking about whatever comes to mind. Finally, they pack up to leave. They take a meandering path through the grey trees towards the nearest shuttle station.

There's a moment where Yuuri darts in close to whisper his affection into Viktor’s ear, where Viktor laughs, and Yuuri’s fingers brush his. There's a moment that he almost pulls away, glancing over his shoulder, before Yuuri is gripping his hand and pulling him off the path and into the trees.

His breath  _ whooshes _ from him as he's slammed up against the trunk of one of the trees.

“Yuuri,” he whispers, surprised, before he’s silenced by Yuuri’s kiss.

He tangles his hands into Yuuri’s hair as Yuuri deepens the kiss and presses close, shoving his hands under Viktor’s shirt. Yuuri’s palms smooth up over his abdomen, and he tilts his head back against the tree trunk, gasping when Yuuri’s mouth descends immediately over the sensitive hollows of his neck.

Footsteps in the grass.

They spring apart, eyes wide, looking up towards the path. After a moment, Yuuri pulls him down behind the wide wire leaves of a nearby bush. They crouch there for a moment, hands clasped together tightly.

“You sure you dropped it here?”

A woman’s voice, distant.

“Positive!” another woman calls from somewhere much closer, “I think it must have rolled off the path. My GPS is detecting that it fell somewhere around here.”

They stiffen as they hear the unmistakable sounds of the other woman coming off the path towards them.

“Maybe it fell into the bushes.”

They trade a grimace, letting go of one another’s hands.

“It's up here, you moron!”

“You found it?”

Footsteps rustle away from them, going back up towards the path. They trade another look. Viktor raises one brow, and Yuuri grins.

“Yes. It was right here by the path!”

“Give me that!”

The two women continue down the path, squabbling and laughing. As their voices fade into the distance, Yuuri turns to him. They look at each other for a moment, before they both burst into laughter. Viktor leans in for a moment, giddy, to kiss Yuuri on the cheek, and Yuuri turns his face into the kiss.

“Why did we hide in the bushes?” Yuuri murmurs against his lips, “We could have just pretended we’d lost something too.”

“Don't ask me,” Viktor chuckles, “You were the one who pulled me into the bushes.”

“Imagine if we’d just popped up at her,” Yuuri muses.

“Let’s just be glad we didn't have to do that,” Viktor agrees.

“Mm,” Yuuri hums, absently, fondly brushing Viktor’s fringe out of his face, before he pulls Viktor into another kiss. Viktor cups Yuuri’s jaw in one hand, pressing closer.

They kiss in the bushes for a while, until Viktor finally pulls back, breathing a little heavily.

“Come on,” he says, “We should get back to the office.”

  
  
  


They tumble out of the lifts laughing, tripping a little as they go, before Viktor presses an urgent a finger to his lips, shooting Yuuri a meaningful look. They tiptoe down the hallway and into Viktor’s office, but they’re giggling again by the time the door clicks shut behind them. Yuuri’s hand creeps into his, and Viktor’s smile just won't go away. He slides an arm around Yuuri’s waist, stealing in close until he can press his smile to Yuuri’s cheek.

Afterwards, they sit down together, but Viktor doesn't get a lot done. He spends most of the next hour staring blankly at the mysterious sequence. He’d spent the first ten minutes running it through some of the more basic decoding algorithms, to no avail, and spent the rest of it glancing at Yuuri out of the corner of his eye.

Yuuri doesn't seem to be getting much done either. He's staring off into the distance, the way he does whenever he's processing something in that impressive brain of his, but he keeps bumping his shoulder up against Viktor’s, occasionally ghosting a hand against Viktor’s thigh or knee, or else taking Viktor’s hand and playing absently with it. Sometimes, he’ll glance up at Viktor, smiling when their eyes meet.

Viktor leans in for a kiss after the first time, which distracts them for a good ten minutes. After that, they get distracted talking about something extremely obscure, a movie they'd watched together the week before, and after that, Yuuri seems to give up completely. He just tilts his head over onto Viktor’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

Viktor's thoughts scatter at that. They do not come back. When his watch finally beeps, signaling that it's time to go home, he hasn't done anything much at all. Yuuri lifts his head from Viktor’s shoulder to look up at him, and Viktor has never been so reluctant to leave.

“Stay,” Yuuri asks.

“I stayed yesterday,” Viktor argues reluctantly.

“You can stay another night,” Yuuri pushes.

“Lilia and Yakov will worry.”

“Then take me with you.”

Viktor frowns. “I don't know if that's allowed.”

“Didn't the Commissioner or whoever tell you that you had complete authority to take me wherever you want?” Yuuri points out.

“First Assistant Commissioner,” Viktor corrects automatically, before stopping to consider the rest of what Yuuri had said.

  
  
  


The house is dark when they get back. They creep slowly towards the staircase, trying not to make a sound on creaky wooden floorboards, Viktor a few steps in front. As they pass the parlor, however, a pointed cough issues from within. Yuuri takes a few steps backwards, out of sight of the doorway, as Viktor turns to Yakov with a sheepish grin.

Inside, Yakov is setting his reading glasses aside, frowning.

“What happened?” he asks, worried, “You didn't come back last night. Are you in trouble at work?”

“No!” Viktor blurts quickly, “No, I just— I have a deadline for— erm— for tomorrow. I stayed late and missed the last shuttle so I just I slept in office.”

The frown on Yakov’s face eases a little at that, and Yakov sighs.

“Next time you miss the shuttle,” he says, “Just call. I can arrange private transport.”

“That's really not necessary,” Viktor protests, slightly alarmed at the prospect. Yakov’s frown deepens disapprovingly, and Viktor quickly compromises. “I  _ promise _ to call you next time I'm not going to be home.”

Yakov sighs again at that.

“Fine,” he allows grudgingly, before reaching for his reading glasses.

As Yakov picks up his book, Viktor shoots a quick glance at Yuuri. Yuuri nods pointedly towards the door, and then raises his arms in the universal  _ ‘so what now?’  _ gesture. Viktor looks back at Yakov. Yakov is opening the book, sinking back down into the plush cushions of his favorite armchair.

Clearing his throat, Viktor beckons Yuuri to join him in the doorway. Yuuri comes to stand beside him with a somewhat awkward smile.

“Yakov,” he begins, placing a hand on Yuuri’s back, “This is Yuuri. He’s my colleague.”

“Hello,” Yuuri greets.

“I didn't really want to worry you by being away from home two nights in a row—”

“Lilia was worried too,” Yakov grumbles, “She  _ actually  _ sought me out to demand where you’d gone, you know?”

“— and that's why I brought Yuuri over to discuss the project,” Viktor continues loudly, “We’ll be upstairs in my room. Discussing.”

Yakov frowns. His gaze drops to where Viktor’s hand is on the small of Yuuri’s back, and Viktor quickly snatches his hand away and tries for an innocent smile. Yakov’s frown deepens.

_ “Vitya,”  _ he murmurs in a low, warning tone, before he sighs, shaking his head, and then makes a helpless gesture for them to proceed. Viktor grins widely, steering Yuuri towards the staircase as he waves to Yakov.

“Goodnight, Yakov!” he calls, “Rest well!”

The wooden steps creak quietly under their feet as they ascend the stairs to the second floor. As they creep down the hallway, Yuuri’s hand finds his in the darkness and holds it tight. They grin at each other before stepping into Viktor’s room.

Yuuri immediately pulls him around and kisses him against the closed door. Viktor slides his arms around Yuuri’s neck, closing his eyes. After a few moments, Yuuri breaks away to steer him towards the bed.

“Wait,” Viktor says, and pulls his bedside drawer open, “Here.”

Yuuri takes the tube from him, looking surprised, and Viktor can feel his face warming as he sits down on the bed.

“What?”

He nearly chokes as Yuuri sinks suddenly to his knees in front of him. Yuuri puts his hands on Viktor’s knees.

“I want to try something,” he whispers.

Viktor swallows, and nods his head. He draws in a quick breath as Yuuri pushes his knees open and slides in closer, reaching up to unbutton his pants. Viktor lifts his hips so that Yuuri can pull his pants and underwear off him completely. His face warms as Yuuri grips him around the base with a look of fascination, before leaning in to plant a chaste kiss on the underside of the head.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines. Yuuri stands up, gripping Viktor’s waist and  _ shifting  _ him further up the bed like he weighs nothing.  _ “Oh _ my god.”

Yuuri smiles, reaching behind him for the tube and snapping it open. He squeezes out a good amount onto his fingers, and then reaches down between Viktor’s legs. Viktor recoils a little at the unexpected sensation of something cold and wet at his entrance.

“Sorry,” Yuuri breathes, “Is this not okay?”

“It's fine!” Viktor says quickly, “Just took me by surprise.” 

Yuuri slips a finger in. Gasping, Viktor goes down onto his elbows, opening his legs slightly. He drops his head back as Yuuri curls his finger gently upwards.

_ “Please,”  _ he keens.

Yuuri bends suddenly over him, taking his lips in a heated kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, pupils dilated.

“Have you ever touched yourself like this?” he asks, voice low.

“Yes,” Viktor says, and before he can think better of it, adds, “I thought of you.”

He is immediately embarrassed by his admission, but Yuuri looks immensely satisfied. He cups his palms around the back of Viktor’s knees and spreads them up and open. Viktor plants his feet firmly on the bed on either side of Yuuri.

_ “Good,” _ Yuuri says, and hands him the lube, “I want to see you touch yourself.”

Viktor blushes as he takes the tube.

“My,” he teases, “aren't you bossy today?”

Uncertainty flickers briefly over Yuuri’s face.

“Is this okay?” he asks anxiously. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”

Viktor shakes his head.

“I like it,” he says, a little shyly. Yuuri smiles, flushed and pleased, and then leans down to kiss him again. Viktor closes his eyes and hooks one arm around Yuuri’s neck.

When Yuuri finally pulls away, Viktor opens the tube of lube and squeezes some out over his fingers. Yuuri shifts back a little as he reaches between his legs and slips two fingers into himself. Viktor blushes at the intensity of Yuuri’s gaze.

“You're staring,” he murmurs.

“You're—” Yuuri drops his eyes, looking vaguely embarrassed. “—really pretty.”

Viktor screws his eyes shut, whimpering, and begins to thrust his fingers in and out. Yuuri draws in a sharp breath.

“God,” he breathes, “I wish I could fuck you.”

Viktor tilts his head back, moving his fingers faster.

“We could—” he stutters after a moment, “We could get some toys. We’ll probably need to forge a marriage certificate, but you could fuck me with it and we could— pretend.”

Yuuri draws back, looking surprised, a little scandalized, but mostly just very delighted. 

“You know,” he says, “when we first met, you always seemed so afraid to be different. I'm glad I got to discover how wrong I was.”

“I think I only started letting myself be different again since you came into my life,” Viktor admits.

Yuuri blinks, taken aback.

“Oh?”

Viktor laughs.

“Weren't you the one who said that some things are worth breaking rules over?”

Yuuri smiles, and gently grasps Viktor’s wrist. He takes the lube from Viktor.

“I want to do it,” he explains, wetting his fingers.

“Please,” Viktor says.

This time, Yuuri slides three fingers in. Viktor’s breath leaves him in a surprised cry. It's a bit of a stretch but— he is realizing now that he likes it. He whimpers as Yuuri begins to thrust his fingers, putting his hands over his face and opening his legs more. He  _ really  _ likes it.

“What does it feel like for you?” Yuuri asks suddenly.

“Uhm,” Viktor begins, flustered and distracted by the fingers in him,  _ “Ah!  _ I don't know. Just— really good. Keep going.”

He drops his head back, panting.

“Intense?” Yuuri asks.

“Yes,” he mewls, “Harder, please.”

Yuuri puts his free hand on Viktor’s thigh, keeping it open, and then begins to thrust his fingers harder and faster. Viktor’s hands fly to Yuuri’s forearms.

“I want to get one of those toys I can wear,” Yuuri tells him, “You look so good like this. I want to fuck you with it and watch you come apart.”

Viktor stifles his moan.

“I think I still have a forged marriage certificate from when I was a teen,” he manages, “It was so badly forged though. I have no idea how I managed to get away with it at the shop.”

“You bought a toy?!” Yuuri yelps.

“I was a rebellious teen,” Viktor defends.

“Do you still have it?” Yuuri asks, eying his closet suspiciously, and Viktor laughs breathlessly.

“I threw it away when the investigations started,” he admits.

“Pity,” Yuuri sighs gloomily, but pulls his fingers out and reaches over to pick up the lube, drizzling more over his palm. Viktor gasps as Yuuri takes hold of him, slicking him thoroughly. Finally, he shifts over and takes Viktor smoothly in to the hilt. He closes his eyes for a moment. Viktor sits up, pressing their foreheads together, putting his hands on Yuuri’s waist.

When Yuuri starts moving, he buries his face in Yuuri’s shoulder, breath hitching. Yuuri presses a kiss to his temple. Viktor is already pretty riled up. It does not take much longer until he's gasping against Yuuri’s shoulder, screwing his eyes shut as his orgasm takes him.

“There we go,” Yuuri coaxes, “You’re so good.”

_ “Yuuri,” _ he cries.

Afterwards, they take a long shower together, kissing leisurely under the water until the water turns cold. Yuuri cleans himself out as Viktor steps out of the spray. They change into something more comfortable and slip under the covers. Viktor drifts off to the sound of Yuuri’s thrumming.

  
  
  


A knock wakes them in the morning.

“Viktor,” Lilia’s voice calls through the door, “Breakfast is ready.”

Viktor opens his eyes. His cheek is pressed up against a firm, warm surface. Yuuri smiles at him when he lifts his head to look at him, carding a gentle hand through the hairs at the back of his neck. Their clothes are neatly folded on the chair by his bed.

“Good morning,” Viktor says, and yawns.

“Good morning,” Yuuri murmurs.

They get dressed and head down to the first floor. Viktor is surprised to see Lilia sitting at the table, back perfectly straight, lips pursed. Yakov is sitting at the head of the table, looking equally uncomfortable. It takes him a moment to realize why.

It's because Yuuri is here.

Viktor picks up his plate and begins loading it with waffles, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“We’ll eat out in the garden or something,” he says, “We were going to take a walk to— err, stimulate the mind. We’ll work on our deadline outside.”

They are escaping out onto the patio in record time. Yuuri just raises an eyebrow at Viktor’s grimace as he sets the plate down on the table.

“Yakov and Lilia have not been on speaking terms since I was a child,” Viktor explains, “I don't think I've seen them sit at the table together in twenty years, but I think they made an exception because you're here. They usually keep to their own sides of the house. Strictly speaking though, that's— well, extremely frowned upon. If they were found out, they’d have to go to a rehabilitative center. As you can probably imagine, though, neither of them want that to happen.”

“Right,” Yuuri says, wincing, “I hope me being here is okay.”

Viktor puts a hand on top of Yuuri’s, smiling softly.

“It's everything I’ve ever wanted,” he says quietly.

Once Viktor is done with breakfast, they head out together into the gardens. They sit for a long time in the gazebo, looking over the koi pond, talking, laughing.

"I've never seen so many colors in one place,” Yuuri admits.

“Lilia’s work,” Viktor explains, “Sometimes I think she ought to be invited to work on the Capitol parks. The gardens are really a masterpiece.”

They head back towards the house closer to lunch time. Viktor is laughing at something Yuuri had said when Yuuri suddenly sobers, pulling away from him. Viktor blinks, confused, as Yuuri’s fingers slip from his.

“Yakov is watching us from the parlor,” Yuuri says quietly, without looking up.

  
  
  


Later, as they are leaving the house, Yakov clears his throat from the table. He appears to be reading the news, but his eyes aren't moving, and his shoulders are tense.

“Viktor,” he says tersely, “can I have a word?”

Viktor shoots Yuuri a look, and Yuuri steps out of the front door without further comment, throwing Viktor a last backward glance before closing the door between them. Swallowing noisily, Viktor turns slowly to face Yakov.

“Come back tonight,” Yakov says, not looking up from the newspaper,  _ “Alone.” _

  
  
  


They take a shuttle out into the fringes of Central Capitol. There's a little stretch of small dingy shops, the outsides of them graffitied and crumbling. Viktor pulls Yuuri discreetly into one of them.

Inside, there are rows and rows of shelves lit in dim reddish lighting. There's a counter against the far wall where a woman is sitting, seemingly watching a movie. Viktor waves, awkwardly, as she looks up, and then pulls Yuuri behind one of the shelves. He is immediately confronted with a faceful of uncomfortably veiny dildos.

“Wow,” Yuuri says in an undertone.

“Erm,” Viktor says.

They both pivot in unison. The shelf behind them is stocked with a less uncomfortable series of bullet vibrators in pastel colors.

“Guess it was too much to expect that there would be strapons,” Yuuri mutters, “Like in those banned movies.”

Viktor puts a finger to his lips, alarmed, and peers around the bookshelf at the cashier. She is still watching her movie. Viktor leans in closer, lowering his voice.

“We can get that one,” he murmurs, pointing at one of the harnessed egg vibrators for women, “If we pop the egg vibrator out, we can put a dildo through the ring.”

Yuuri takes the vibrator off the hook.

They move on to the next shelf. It sports a dizzying array of dildos. After a few moments of silent browsing, Viktor plucks a smallish plug off the shelf. It's a soft lavender color, tapered tip swelling slightly before dipping into a flared base.

“You like that one?” Yuuri asks quietly.

“No.” Viktor winks. “This one is for you.” At Yuuri's questioning look, he elaborates, “To put inside you while you're fucking me.”

Yuuri grins. “Then I get to pick which one I want to fuck you with,” he haggles.

Viktor chuckles. “Sure.”

They continue to browse for a while more, silently, until Yuuri picks out a curved, semi-realistic one, slightly on the large side. Viktor eyes widen a little at the size, and Yuuri raises an eyebrow at him.

“Too big?”

Viktor blushes. “I'll manage,” he mutters.

He takes the dildo from Yuuri and heads to the counter. The woman looks up as he sets the toys down on the counter, glancing at Yuuri.

“You buying anything?” she drawls.

“Just accompanying him,” Yuuri explains, jabbing a thumb towards Viktor, “He was too shy to come alone.”

Viktor shoots him a  _ look,  _ but Yuuri just smiles innocently.

"Marriage certificate?” the woman deadpans.

“Right,” Viktor says, and taps his watch, “Here.”

He pulls up the forged marriage certificate, wincing a little as he looks properly at it. The printed name reads  _ Vitaly Nuchulienkov,  _ but the signature reads  _ Vility Nikienorov.  _ The name of his supposed wife is  _ Niki Viktorova. _

The cashier barely glances at it before beginning to ring up and bag his items. She taps the screen of the register, and Viktor winces a little at the price. It is  _ exorbitant. _

Well, he thinks, handing over his bank card for payment, he's not exactly spending his cushy five figure salary on anything else. The cashier scans the card, and then passes it back to him.

“Have a nice day,” she says, completely monotone.

“You too,” Viktor returns awkwardly, and then pivots out of the shop. He turns to grin at Yuuri.  _ “That  _ was an adventure.”

Yuuri laughs, shaking his head. “That certificate  _ was _ terrible,” he says.

“Shut up,” Viktor chuckles, “I made it myself when I was sixteen. I was a dumb kid.”

“Okay, Vitality Nikkulienov.”

“No.”

“Virality Nilienorov.”

_ “Stop.” _

_ “Virility Nirimotov.” _

They banter good-naturedly all the way to the shuttle station, but sober a little as they draw to a halt by the platforms. The crowd brushes slowly past them, filing onto their respective platforms. Rattling aluminium shuttles land and depart, puttering up and into the cluttered skyscrapers, before vanishing into the blur of neon lights. Viktor sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, as Yuuri bites his lip.

“I have to go,” Viktor says, “Alone. Yakov wants to talk to me.”

“I guess I'll— work on the decoding,” Yuuri says reluctantly, “Until you come in tomorrow morning.”

“You'll probably be a lot more productive than me,” Viktor admits, chuckling, “You can sit down and just run a bunch of algorithms while I'm not around to distract you.”

“You  _ are _ very distracting,” Yuuri teases.

Viktor laughs, and Yuuri’s expression eases into a look of fondness.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he says softly, and winks, “Maybe I’ll even have the message decoded by the time you come in.”

“I hope it’ll be that easy,” Viktor jokes, “Then I won't have to work on it at all.”

Yuuri steps in close, hugging him tight for a brief second, before stepping back. His eyes are achingly soft.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he says.

He turns, and is swallowed almost immediately by the crowd. Viktor peers up over the sea of people, spotting a black-haired head bobbing slowly away, before vanishing eventually into one of the shuttles. Yuuri appears in profile through one of the scratched up windows. Viktor continues to watch him, raising a hand in farewell, but Yuuri does not turn to look out of the window. Finally, the doors close, and the shuttle putters slowly out of the station.

With a sigh, Viktor turns and heads for the shuttle that will take him home.

  
  
  


When he gets home, he heads straight for the parlor. Yakov is sitting in his favorite armchair, staring out of the window with an open book in his lap. He looks up when Viktor clears his throat, face shuttering as he closes the book.

“Viktor,” he says, and gestures at the chair opposite him, “Sit down.”

Viktor sits down. He feels suddenly like a child again, waiting to get a scolding, and resentment begins to rise in him at that. He's done nothing wrong. He’s not a child anymore. He’s  _ twenty-seven for heaven’s sake. _

“What,” Yakov begins, closing his eyes, “were you  _ thinking, _ Vitya?”

Viktor raises a defiant eyebrow.

“I have many thoughts,” he answers shortly, “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Yakov slams his book down on the table beside him.

“A  _ boy?” _ he demands incredulously, voice rising in volume, “Haven’t we been through this before? A  _ boy,  _ Vitya? What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?”

Viktor finds his voice rising in return.

“Yes!” he snaps, “I  _ have  _ been thinking! I’ve been thinking beyond my prejudices — and I’ve decided that there’s nothing wrong with loving men. I've decided that there’s nothing wrong with  _ me! _ ”

“There are  _ rules,  _ Viktor!” Yakov reminds him, jabbing a finger at him, “Have you forgotten about that?!”

Viktor glares steadily back, fisting his hands slowly in his pants. 

“There are some things worth breaking the rules for.”

Yakov’s face darkens. “You're going to regret this,” he warns lowly, “When he’s grown tired of you and left. When he’s gone and turned you over to  _ them.  _ You’re going to regret it then. Don't be _ stupid _ , Vitya.”

“Yuuri isn't like that.”

“That's what you said the last time too!” Yakov explodes, “This is  _ just infatuation,  _ Vitya! Don't ruin your life over a boy you won't even want to see in a month’s time!”

“It is  _ not  _ infatuation!” Viktor cries exasperatedly, “It’s different this time. Yuuri is not like everyone else.”

“You said that too about that boy from St. Peter’s!”

“Will you  _ stop bringing that up?!” _

“The fact that you're so sensitive about it just  _ shows _ that—”

“Just  _ stop  _ assuming you know  _ everything  _ about me! You don't!”

“What I know is that—”

_ “Why are you always like this?! Why are you always—” _

Yakov stands up, slamming his hand down on the table beside him.

“Be  _ quiet _ and  _ listen  _ for once in your damn life, Viktor!” he thunders, “This is going to wind up like the last time! You just can't see it because you think you're in love. You can't see past your infatuation with the  _ damn _ boy. You think I didn't see you in the gardens today? Giggling and holding hands like schoolboys— Viktor, do you even know what he’s  _ really  _ like? Those first rosy moments just  _ don't  _ last!”

“You don't know  _ anything _ about me and Yuuri!” Viktor snarls, and then turns his gaze skyward, “Why do you  _ always  _ treat me like I don't know  _ anything?!  _ I'm not a child anymore, Yakov, stop treating me like one!”

“I would if you would stop  _ acting  _ like one—”

“You’ve never approved of _anything_ I do!” Viktor shouts, “Everything I do is wrong! Everything about me is wrong, and you know what? I’m done! This is _my_ life, Yakov. You can't keep telling me what to do with it. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing. _There’s_ _nothing wrong with me!”_

His voice breaks on the last word. 

The shout rings through the study, echoing faintly through the empty house.

Yakov rocks back, shocked, and Viktor just closes his eyes for a moment.

He's done.

He's  _ done. _

He stands up, and  _ leaves _ . He slams the parlor door shut behind him as he goes and heads straight for the door. He’ll sleep in the office. At least  _ there _ , he can be with Yuuri. As he fishes furiously for his keys, cursing under his breath, someone coughs pointedly from behind him, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around.

Lilia is sitting at the table, bony hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.

Shame washes suddenly over him.

“Lilia,” he chokes, “Were you here the whole time?”

Lilia just blinks, slowly, and then gestures at the chair opposite her. There's a untouched cup of tea on the table.

“Sit down,” she says.

He sits.

For about a minute, they just stare down into their respective cups, in complete silence. The parlor door remains firmly closed. Finally, Lilia lifts her cup and takes a long sip, before setting it down with a sigh.

“I'm sorry you had to hear that,” Viktor blurts out.

Lilia shakes her head.

“I was expecting it, really,” she says.

“Still,” Viktor says, wincing down into his cup.

Lilia reaches across the table, putting one hand over his. Hesitantly, he raises his eyes to meet hers, but there is no anger, no judgment in her eyes. She smiles sadly at him.

“You know,” she says, “No one ever thought there was anything wrong with you. Not me, and not Yakov.”

“He does a really good job of showing it,” Viktor says flatly.

Lilia shakes her head, gripping his hand tightly in hers. “He worries because he  _ loves _ you,” she says, “You  _ know _ that, don’t you?”

— and Viktor sighs at that, deflating. He's never been able to stay angry in the face of Lilia’s steady sensibility. 

“I know,” he says quietly, “but I  _ love _ Yuuri. I'm not giving him up.”

Lilia closes her eyes and puts her face in her hands. She does not move for a long, long moment. Finally, she speaks.

“You know what they'll do to you if they find out, right?” she whispers.

Viktor reaches across the table and tugs at her wrist gently. When she lowers it, he takes her hand in both of his, smiling sadly.

“Yuuri is worth the risk.”

Lilia’s frown does not ease.

“I don't want to treat you like a child,” she says, “You aren't, and you're right that Yakov still hasn't seemed to realize that.” She sighs. “Which is— a whole other headache in itself. The point is that I don't want to treat you like the boy you were when you were still in St. Peter's. Are you  _ absolutely _ sure about this Yuuri of yours?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” Viktor answers solemnly.

Lilia puts a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and nodding. 

“Alright,” she says, “I trust you. I— You know, it’s hard as— as your guardian to let go, but you're an adult now and— I trust your choices. I'll speak to Yakov.”

Viktor shakes his head. “No, please,” he pleads, “You don't have to do that— not for my sake. I can settle this with him myself.”

“No,” Lilia says, raising a hand, “No, I—  _ We’ve _ been behaving childishly, and it's about  _ damn  _ time I stopped avoiding him and living like a ghost in my own home. Even if we no longer love each other, the least we could do is be civil. I don't want you or Yuri to be dragged into our dispute ever again.”

She sighs again, heavily, and then gestures towards the stairs.

“Please go to bed,” she says, “I’ll talk to him. Goodnight.”

“Lilia—” Viktor begins.

_ “Go." _

With a sigh, Viktor stands. 

He reaches across the table briefly to squeeze Lilia’s hand, before retreating down the darkened hallways, past the closed parlor door, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. From upstairs, he hears Lilia knocking. He bites his lip, and closes his bedroom door.

  
  
  


When he comes down the next morning, he peeks discreetly into the parlor and is surprised to see that everything is still in place. There are no signs of any explosive argument.  _ That’s _ a change.

He creeps forward, and peers around the corner towards the table. He's  _ even _ more surprised to see Lilia and Yakov sitting at the table together. Yakov is reading the news rather stiffly, and Lilia is eating very primly, both saying nothing, but — he blinks once, hard — they are still there, in the flesh, seated together at the table.

“Good—” he begins awkwardly, “morning?”

There's a moment of painful silence.

“Good morning,” Lilia returns, stiffly.

He sits gingerly in his usual seat, and, as their service droid wheels out to serve his breakfast, begins to eat. No one says anything the entire time. The silence is definitely feels thick enough for him to cut with his knife.

Finally, once he's done with his meal, he coughs, awkwardly, and rises.

“I'm going to work now,” he says carefully, “Goodbye.”

As he turns to go, Yakov clears his throat from behind him. Viktor looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. Yakov is still staring determinedly at the screen in front of him.

“If you're going to start a relationship,” he grumbles lowly, “the least you could do is be a little more  _ discreet,  _ for heaven’s sake.”

Viktor blinks, once, and then turns to continue on his way out of the house. He pauses in the doorway. It takes him a moment to notice the smile on his own face.

“I love you too, Yakov,” he says softly, without turning around.

He closes the door before Yakov can answer.

  
  
  


When he reaches work, Yuuri is seated on the playmat, bent double over a book with an extremely intense look on his face. Viktor looks slowly over the rest of the room with a raised brow. The office has turned into a war zone. Almost all the books have been taken from the shelves and strewn all over the floor around Yuuri. There are maybe only three books left on the shelf. Yuuri is flipping feverishly through the book in front of him. 

“What,” Viktor begins, confusedly, “are you  _ doing,  _ Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s eyes flick up to him.

“Close the door,” he says sharply, and with some bewilderment, Viktor complies.

Yuuri lowers his voice. “I’ve cracked the code,” he says. Viktor’s breath catches. He drops his bag by the door immediately.

“Tell me how it works,” he says, kneeling in front of Yuuri.

“The letters in the sequence stand for an author and a title, guiding us to storybooks on the shelves, which work as a cipher for the numbers, which indicate the page number and—” He continues flipping through the book for a few moments, before he stops, jabbing his finger at a single highlighted word. “— and which letter it is. This one is a three so it's the third letter— R. We have M - A - R now.”

“Erm,” Viktor begins, a little awkwardly, as Yuuri tosses the book aside and begins to search feverishly through the mess of books around him, muttering furiously to himself, “This is really good and all, but Yuuri, are you sure—”

“Just  _ trust _ me, Viktor,” Yuuri cries exasperatedly,  _ “Please.  _ Near the end, Mari was always so busy— I’ve got a feeling this is it, Viktor. Help me look for  _ In Search Of The Sea,  _ please, that's the next one.”

“Right,” Viktor says, and begins to look through the books around him.

After a few moments of frantic searching, Yuuri lets out a triumphant cry. “Found it!” he exclaims, and immediately begins to rifle through it. “Page… eighteen…” He jabs his finger at the highlighted word. “I was right,” he says. “I was  _ right.” _

“What—” Viktor begins.

“M - A - R - I,” Yuuri says. Viktor’s eyes widen. Yuuri laughs, disbelievingly, shaking his head. “This is it. We've got it.  _ We’ve got it.” _

“What's the next book?” Viktor asks, sitting down, “I’ll help.”

“Help me look for  _ The Sleeping Prince, _ ” Yuuri orders, “That’s not the title that's on the cover, so you'll have to open all the books one by one. Here, let’s stack these books up so they’re all in one place.”

“I'll start alphabetizing the books,” Viktor offers.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur.

 


	8. The Plot Thickens (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!
> 
> There is sexual content in the middle of this chapter. They make use of the strap on.

**** Some hours later, they have the decoded message. It’s just— MARI, followed by a set of numbers they can't make head or tails of.

“Do you think this is even right?” Yuuri asks, skeptical, “I was really convinced at first but—”

“It has to be,” Viktor says, “She must have put her name in front as an indicator. But what do the numbers  _ mean?” _

“Maybe they are meant to be double decoded,” Yuuri suggests.

Viktor taps up his watch and opens up a basic decoding program. “Read the numbers out to me. I'll run it through a few algorithms.”

The algorithms turn out no results. Viktor sits down in the chair, staring down blankly at the sequence, occasionally trying vainly to rearrange them into something that makes sense. He has never been good at anagrams. Yuuri lies down on the mat a short distance away, bouncing a ball absently against the ceiling. After about an hour of this, Viktor’s stomach growls.

“Lunch?” Yuuri asks, sitting up.

With a sigh, Viktor stands up. He holds the door open for Yuuri, and they head down to the canteen in pensive silence. The silence continues as Viktor queues up for his food, pays for it, sits down, and starts eating.

Finally, just as he's about to finish his meal, Yuuri sits up, eyes widening, and then leans in close.

“The numbers,” he whispers, “are  _ coordinates _ .”

  
  
  


“I came across the concept of coordinates in one of the banned books Mari left behind,” Yuuri explains later, once they are back in the office. “In the past, coordinates were used to identify locations anywhere on earth, usually based on latitude and longitude.”

“I must admit that I have  _ no idea _ what that means,” Viktor confesses. “The concept of coordinates was probably abolished after the Dome was erected. There's the Central Capitol and Outer Capitol, of course, and then Sector Blue and Sector Green outside, separated from us by the Subdome. The Sectors are much bigger than the Capitol. They are broken up into small numbered districts, and that's how we convey location now.”

He draws up a holographic map on his watch, and shows it to Yuuri.

“This is a map of the Capitol and the Sectors,” he explains. “Can you figure out where the coordinates lead to on this map?”

Yuuri taps on the map. When nothing happens, he taps again. “Viktor,” he says, expressionlessly. “This is literally a picture of three concentric circles with numbers written on them. I can't even zoom in to a more detailed view.”

Viktor flushes. “That's all we have,” he defends, “The Bodypolitik thinks it's a security concern to have a detailed map publically available.”

Yuuri puts a hand over his face.

“Can I interface with your watch?” he asks.

Viktor sticks his wrist out. When Yuuri taps his watch, it projects a three-dimensional model of a blue and green globe.

“This is a old map of the world,” Yuuri says, and taps it again. The globe spins, and then zooms into a map of some unfamiliar terrain. On the map, there is an orange dot, and some distance from it, a flashing red star. “The dot is where we are now, and the star is where the coordinates are leading us.” Yuuri taps on the watch again, and the map disappears. He begins to stand. “If we go now, we can probably—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Viktor cuts in, raising both hands, “It’s getting late. We can probably reach there by nightfall, but I doubt we can make it back in time for last shuttle. Let’s go tomorrow instead.”

“Well,” Yuuri begins, slightly reluctant, and sits back down, “Alright then.”

Viktor smiles, taking Yuuri's hand in his and bringing it up to his lips. “It's no rush,” he says quietly. “I have Yakov’s blessing to bring you back home with me.  _ Discreetly.” _

Yuuri smiles back at him. He stands up, opens the cabinet, and begins to root through it. After a few moments, he emerges with an  _ awful _ yellow sun hat, which he slaps on his head.

“Okay,” he says, and winks, “Let’s go to your place then.”

“Not with that hat,” Viktor vetoes flatly.

“You  _ said _ discreet—”

“Nope,” Viktor says loudly, over Yuuri’s protests, “Not. With. That. Hat.”

  
  
  


They leave for the Outer Capitol in the morning. Viktor waves goodbye to Lilia and Yakov as they leave the house, before they set off for the nearest shuttle station. The shuttle is crowded with people making their morning commute. They are squished into a corner while the shuttle rattles up into the sky.

Yuuri grabs Viktor’s wrist as they arrive at Old Parliament station.

“Let’s get off here,” he says.

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Is this where the coordinates are leading us to?” he asks.

“No,” Yuuri admits, “But I wanted to drop by and see Mari’s parents again. We left so abruptly last time and— I guess I wanted to apologize.”

They exit the shuttle and walk down from the square until they reach the familiar wooden house with its distinct terracotta roof. Mari’s mother is standing in the front garden, wiping down the windows from the outside. She turns around at the sounds of their approaching footsteps, and drops her washcloth at the sight of Yuuri.

“You came back,” she says, shocked.

“I'm sorry about last time,” Yuuri apologizes, “Can I come in?”

Her face breaks into a wide, sunny smile. “Of course you can!” she cries immediately, and steps forward to take one of Yuuri’s hands in both of hers. “I'm so glad you came back. Toshiya will be so happy to see you.”

As they head into the house, Viktor lags behind, biting his lip. He smiles as Yuuri turns to throw him a questioning look.

“Why don't I give you three some space?” he suggests, “I’ve never really seen much of the Outer Capitol. I want to check out the Outer State University Library.”

Mari’s mother smiles gratefully at him. “Head back to Old Parliament square and look for the Bodypolitik building. Walk towards it until you see the university library. It’s an old building made of red brick. You can't miss it.”

Yuuri’s eyes are soft. “Thank you,” he says. “I'll see you later.”

They head into the house, talking quietly between themselves, and close the door behind them. 

Viktor heads back the way he came, shoving his hands into his pockets. He follows the directions he'd been given and soon finds himself at Old Parliament Square. Up behind the ivory statue of Lady Justice, the Bodypolitik eye gazes over the crumbling rooftops. He can’t help but feel vaguely uneasy, as if it is staring right at him.

Averting his gaze, he takes the road heading towards the eye, and soon reaches the foot of a small squat building. Steel letters spell out  _ Outer State University Library _ in block letters on the wall. He pushes open the heavy wooden doors. 

Inside, there are rows and rows of shelves, but Viktor is surprised by how few books there are. There are many empty spaces on the shelves. He walks past the study area towards the set of computers against the far walls. There are students sitting at the tables, leafing gingerly through yellowing pages. One of the chairs is missing an arm, and the computers are  _ ancient. _

Clearing his throat, he turns one of the computers on, recoiling in slight alarm as the fans within its clunky body begin to whir madly. It takes about three minutes to start up. Once it does, he is greeted with a homepage. He clicks to the list of available databases.

It is a very short list.

Someone chuckles from the computer next to him. He turns to see a young woman, hair bunned up messily and held in place by a pencil, with dark circles under her eyes. She looks like a typical university student.

“Don't even bother with that,” she tells him, “The library is way too underfunded to have access to any of the good journals. It got worse after the funding cuts three years ago. If you need anything, you’d be better off taking a day trip up to the Central State University library to get it.”

“Funding cuts?” Viktor asks.

The young woman shoots him a look. “Are you a freshman?” she asks. “You don't look like a freshman.”

Viktor laughs nervously. “It's the silver hair,” he says, “It makes me look old.”

The young woman laughs. “Well then, I’m assuming you weren't here when shit hit the fan, so to speak.” She sighs. “There were a bunch of student protests three years ago in Old Parliament square,” she explains, “Central Capitol didn't like it. The students involved were arrested the very next day, and suddenly there were Truth Section investigators swarming all over the library. Apparently, they found books that they didn't like, because a good half of our books were confiscated, and funding to the library was cut.”

“Wow,” Viktor manages, “That’s—”

He trails off, uncertain of what to say. The young woman laughs.

“That’s Central Capitol for you,” she says, “Typical really.”

She turns back to the computer, typing in a book title into the library catalogue. It turns up no results. She groans.

“Well,” she sighs, “Looks like they don't have the book I need.”

She turns and heads back into the study area, sitting down next to another young woman. She opens a notebook and begins to scribble on it. Slightly disturbed, Viktor turns the computer off. There is a back exit door beside the computers, which he takes. He finds himself in a narrow alley.

The alley is completely marked up, crumbling brick so vandalized he can’t even see the color of the brick under it all. Smack in the middle of the wall, however, there appears to be a large area that has been pressure-hosed clean. When Viktor leans back, squinting, he can vaguely make out the edges of a large red star. Vandals have already begun to lay their mark over the cleaned brick. Someone named Jean has spray painted his name over the window beside it.

Viktor turns and continues walking.

When he arrives back at Yuutopia, the front door is ajar and he can hear the faint sounds of laughter. He pushes open the door and peeks inside. In the main parlor, Yuuri is signing to a small gaggle of children, laughing, and speaking intermittently to Mari’s parents. Both of them are there, smiling indulgently at Yuuri. The mute young lady who had let them in the first time is also sitting with them, a little girl in her lap.

“Viktor!” Yuuri cries, face lighting up at the sight of him, “Come over here and join us.” Smiling, Viktor enters the room. Yuuri shifts over to make space for him. “These are the children who stay here,” he says, gesturing to the kids, “And you’ve already met Yuuko the last time. She tutors the children.”

The mute young lady waves at him, smiling sweetly. A young boy tugs at her long skirt, and signs something at her. She signs back.

“Have some tea,” Mari’s mother insists, pouring him a cup, “You’re family now too.”

They talk for about half an hour more, before Yuuri catches sight of the clock on the wall, and stands.

“It's about time we left,” he says reluctantly, “There's somewhere we have to be and we have to leave now if we want to be able to make it back on time.”

Mari’s parents stand to see them out, hugging Yuuri in the doorway. Yuuri kisses Mari’s mother on the cheek as she wipes a tear away.

“You can come back here whenever you want,” she tells him, “If you ever need anything, we’ll do our best.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, eyes soft.

They make their way back to the shuttle station, buying some sandwiches on the way, and pull up their map. After some discussion, they manage to find a shuttle heading in the direction of the star, and board it. The shuttle is mostly empty. The morning peak hour is already over, and it is not yet time for the lunch hour rush. They sit down at the back of the shuttle.

“You made up with them?” Viktor asks.

“It wasn't their fault that Mari did what they did,” Yuuri explains, and winces, “I shouldn't have taken it out on them the first time.” He shrugs. “But I guess it doesn't matter in the end. They said that they consider every child to pass through their doors as their child. It doesn't matter where I came from, what I remember, or who I am. They would still be happy to call me their son.” He grins widely. “So I guess I have parents now.”

“They seem like amazing people,” Viktor observes. “I've actually never seen a disabled person before. I'd been under the impression that the biochips stop these kinds of things from happening. I guess I was wrong.”

Yuuri is quiet for a long moment.

“I spoke to them about that,” he says, a troubled look on his face, “Apparently, it’s mandatory for disabled fetuses to be aborted, but out in the Outer Capitol, there are less resources for testing, which results in disabled children being born anyway. Before they set up Yuutopia, disabled children were raised in juvenile detention centers and sent out to Sector Blue and Green the moment they are old enough to work.”

“That's awful,” Viktor chokes, horrified.

“It is,” Yuuri agrees, “The Katsukis started Yuutopia to raise these children, educating them through sign language so that they will hopefully be able to hold jobs in the Capitol when they are old enough to work.” He sighs. “However, people are often unwilling to hire them due to their disabilities. They just have no idea how to accommodate someone who is disabled. And if they are unable to find a job in the Capitol within three months of reaching working age—”

“They will be sent out to the Sectors,” Viktor finishes, feeling a little sick.

The three month ceiling for a fresh graduate to find a job is common knowledge. Amongst Central State University graduates, however, the notion of being sent out to the Sectors due to unemployment had always been a distant bogeyman. Certainly, there had never been doubt on Viktor’s mind when he'd graduated that he would ultimately be able to find a job. It had just been a matter of finding the best one. He had definitely never heard of anyone in Central State University being sent out to the Sectors.

Come to think of it, he’d always wondered why so little students from the Outer Capitol made it into Central State. It isn't that they don’t accept students from Outer Capitol, more that those from the Outer Capitol seldom did well enough to meet the entry criteria. St. Peter’s on the other hand, produces more university graduates than any other school. He tries to think back to the admission criteria for St. Peter’s, but draws a blank. Yakov had enrolled him when he'd been a child. However, he's never seen anyone not from one of the inner families in St. Peter’s. 

Feeling slightly sickened, he can't help but think back to the rundown library at Outer State University. He can't help but wonder how the schools in the Outer Capitol are like, whether they are anything like Outer State University. The thought is extremely sobering. He wonders how common it is for those in the Outer Capitol to be unable to find work.

He sighs and turns to look out of the window, directing his mind determinedly away from his morose thoughts. There's nothing he can do about it. Not for now.

He rests his cheek against the glass, closing his eyes.

The glass is warm.

  
  
  


He is jolted awake by a particularly jerky landing. He sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. He hadn't even realized he’d fallen asleep. Beside him, Yuuri smiles, pulling his arm back from where it had been cushioning Viktor’s head. Judging by the time, they've been riding for several hours. Outside, Viktor can see that they are already at the fringes of the Outer Capitol. They are surrounded by squat, slightly worn cottages, and run-down residential districts.

“Are we there yet?” Viktor asks groggily, and Yuuri shakes his head.

He taps on Viktor’s watch. A map appears on the watch face, but they don't look any closer to the star at all.

“I don't think we’ll reach home in time,” Viktor observes worriedly.

“I asked the driver while you were sleeping,” Yuuri says, “and he said this shuttle goes right to the edge of the Capitol, and loops back to Old Parliament overnight. We can get off when we reach the star, check it out, then get back on.”

“Sure,” Viktor agrees, and stretches, groaning as his back pops, “Man, if I’d known how long of a trip this would be, I would have brought a travel pillow or something.”

He unwraps one of the sandwiches they had bought, eating half of it before wrapping up the rest. He isn't very hungry. Yuuri takes the wrapped up sandwich and stashes it back in the bag while Viktor shoots off a quick message to Yakov, telling him that he probably won't be home.

Yakov replies almost immediately.  _ Take care and don't get in trouble _ , is all he says. 

“Sleep a while more,” Yuuri says softly, “I’ll wake you when we get to the star.”

Viktor yawns. He shifts a little in his seat, getting comfortable, then lays his head against the window. He falls asleep almost immediately.

  
  
  


It's dark outside when Yuuri shakes him awake.

“Have we reached the star?” Viktor asks groggily, sitting up.

Yuuri bites his lip. “No,” he says, “but we’ve reached the edge of the Capitol.”

They get out of the shuttle. They are surrounded by rundown brick cottages, untidy and crumbling, laundry hung out to dry in the alleys. Over the aluminium rooftops, Viktor can see where the Subdome separates them from Sector Blue.

They walk through the narrow winding lanes until they are right against the Subdome. It is clear, like glass, and on the other side, Viktor can see squat concrete buildings stretching out in neat rows for as far as he can see.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, “Pull up the map.”

Viktor does. The orange dot marks their current location, somehow seeming no nearer to the red star than before.

The coordinates lead outside the Capitol.

Yuuri lets out a disbelieving breath, shaking his head, and puts his hand against the Subdome. It is firm under his touch, ungiving, the energy field sparking gently against his palm.

  
  
  


The next time Yuuri wakes him, the sky outside is a pale lavender. They transfer shuttles at Old Parliament and head back to Viktor’s house. The sun is up by the time they arrive at the house. Yakov greets Yuuri by name as they pass the parlor, which is an all around strange moment for everyone involved.

Once the bedroom door is closed behind them, they turn to each other.

“What do we do now?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor droops. “I don't know,” he admits, “We are strictly forbidden from leaving the Capitol, on pain of Alteration and exile.”

Yuuri bites his lip. “It  _ would _ be foolish to risk your life trying to leave the Capitol,” he sighs, obviously disappointed, and Viktor immediately feels bad.

“But if we could just find a way past the Subdome,” he begins, “we could probably—”

Yuuri steps right up against him, silencing him with a kiss. When he draws back, he puts a finger to Viktor’s lips.

“No, Viktor,” he says, shaking his head, “I don't want to risk you. I never want to risk you.”

“But—” Viktor begins, before he is interrupted again. As Yuuri winds his arms around Viktor’s neck, Viktor closes his eyes and kisses back. Yuuri is soft and warm in his arms, pliant in all the right ways. “Yuuri,” he sighs against Yuuri’s lips.

Yuuri pulls away, looking enticingly up at Viktor through his lashes. “Now that we’re alone,” he murmurs, “there was something we were meaning to do, wasn't there?”

It takes Viktor a few moments to realize what Yuuri is talking about, but when he does, he feels his face warm. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ve been— I’ve been thinking about it since we went to the shop.”

Yuuri smiles, a little mischievously. They retrieve the toys from Viktor’s closet. Yuuri holds the ring keeping the egg vibrator attached to the harness, and puts both thumbs on the egg vibrator. With a little  _ crack,  _ he breaks the vibrator out of the harness. He puts the dildo through the harness and steps into it. As he begins to tighten the straps, holding the base of the dildo flat against his pelvis, Viktor kneels to help him.

Soon, the harness is in place, and Yuuri is grinning down at him. “You look good down there,” he teases.

Viktor returns the grin as he realizes the position he's in. He grasps the base of the dildo, pressing the head of it to his lips. Yuuri’s eyes darken as Viktor presses a line of chaste kisses down the underside, before sitting down on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh. Viktor shifts forward obligingly to kneel between Yuuri’s legs.

“Come on then,” Yuuri whispers, grasping himself and tapping the head against Viktor’s bottom lip, “Suck it.”

Viktor opens his mouth and takes the tip in. He sucks gently for a few moments, peering up at Yuuri as invitingly as he can, before drawing back to spit in his palm. He slicks up the rest of the dildo and takes it in his mouth again, breathing through his nose as he sinks down low. Yuuri pushes his fringe back with one hand.

“Have you done this before?” he asks.

Viktor pulls off slowly. “A little,” he admits. He blushes as Yuuri raises both eyebrows. “I once blew a boy under the bleachers at St. Peter’s,” he explains, “Though I think  _ ‘blew’  _ is misleading because he came before I could even put him in my mouth. I took him out of his pants, stroked him once, and then he was done.”

Yuuri chuckles. “And?” he asks, “What happened after that?”

“He ran away,” Viktor says flatly, “From then on, he was too embarrassed to even look at me. It was awkward because we were in the same home room. I even saw him around Central State a few times, which was even worse. Almost all boys from St. Peter’s go on to Central State. It's pretty awkward if you don't get along with your batch. I think Mr. Premature Ejaculation was the more embarrassed of the two of us though.”

Yuuri laughs, shaking his head. “It's probably because you look too pretty on your knees,” he teases, before asking, “Any others?”

“There was another time I blew a boy in the woods by the dormitories,” Viktor recounts.

“Was it the same boy?”

“No,” Viktor admits.

“It seems you were quite popular then.”

Viktor blushes. 

“I was experimenting,” he explains, “And I was very pretty as a teen— did you know I used to have long hair?”

Yuuri brushes his fingers gently through Viktor’s hair, fisting it at the back of his head. Viktor moans, closing his eyes.

“You're still pretty,” Yuuri says lowly, “But I  _ would _ have liked to see that.”

Viktor lets Yuuri guide him back down over the dildo, gagging a little at the size of it. Yuuri strokes his hair soothingly.

“And did you let any of them fuck you?” he asks. 

Viktor shakes his head slightly, making a dissenting noise around the dildo. Yuuri smiles, smugly. 

“Good,” he says, and Viktor shivers a little at the possessiveness in his voice.

Yuuri lets him continue for a few more minutes, carding gentle fingers through his hair and cooing softly, coaxing him to continue. “You're so good,” he praises, “You’re so pretty like this.”

Finally, he pushes Viktor away, and pats the bed. Viktor’s breathing quickens as he climbs onto the bed, turning over to lie flat on his back. Yuuri grabs him under the knees and pulls until his bum is right at the end of the bed. He plants his feet on the edge of the mattress, legs bent and spread, blushing a little at the position as Yuuri squeezes out a generous helping of lube onto his palm.

He closes his eyes, draping one hand over his eyes as Yuuri fingers him patiently. One finger turns to two, then to three. With some difficulty, Yuuri manages to squeeze a fourth finger in while Viktor squirms, gasping. After that, he removes his fingers and lines himself up.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whimpers, still squirming,  _ “Please _ .”

He feels the air leave his lungs as Yuuri starts to press in. The dildo feels bigger than it looks but — he moans, flushing with embarrassment — he likes it. The stretch feels good.

When Yuuri finally begins to thrust, he grabs the pillow under his head, crying out. The dildo is big enough and curved upwards to hit all the right spots. He grabs at his face with both hands, a little overwhelmed.

Yuuri stops for a moment to press a kiss to his temple. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Viktor manages, “Don't stop.”

Yuuri bends down to kiss him, cupping his jaw with one hand, before continuing. Viktor squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back against the pillows. “Oh,” he gasps as Yuuri takes hold of him. His hips twitch upwards, and Yuuri holds his hip down with his free hand. “Yuuri—”

His voice breaks at a particularly hard thrust from Yuuri. He grabs onto Yuuri’s shoulder with one hand, the other flying down to Yuuri’s wrist.

“Coming,” he gasps, throwing his head back as pleasure sweeps over him.

When he comes back to himself, Yuuri is pressing soft kisses down his jaw and neck, eyes closed. “Oh,” Viktor says, “You haven't— Should I—”

Yuuri opens his eyes. His body is thrumming noticeably against Viktor’s, a sensation Viktor has grown to associate with Yuuri— with comfort and safety. Yuuri presses a kiss to his lips, and then grins, wickedly.

“I want to fuck you again,” he murmurs.

Viktor moans.

  
  
  


When they reach the office the next day, Viktor sits at the desk, clearing his throat awkwardly as Yuuri shoots him a questioning look.

“Why don't you go ahead and read for awhile,” he says, “I'm just going to— err, get some work done.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, raising an eyebrow, and sitting down slowly on the mat, “I'm just going to watch a movie then. You can join me whenever you like.”

“Sure,” Viktor says.

He waits until Yuuri is settled down across the room, eyes distant in the way they usually are when he's processing something internally, before he carefully sets up his VPN and logs into the Darknet. He'd allowed Yuuri to distract him the day before, transparent as the attempt had been, but he has not, by any means, forgotten what they'd been talking about. First things first, if he’s going to find a way through the Subdome, he’s going to need to know what it's made of. He opens up a search engine, types in a search string, and hits enter.

He’s immediately dizzied by all the unfamiliar sites that appear. The Pirate Ship? Sci-club? iTorrent? He gingerly settles on the most scholarly sounding one: The Illuminatus. He quickly loses himself in the countless threads about the Dome— confusing, contradictory, but strangely fascinating. He only snaps out of it when Yuuri clears his throat, pointedly, from behind him. He closes the screen with a surprised yip.

“Yuuri,” he says weakly, turning around, “Did you finish your movie?”

Yuuri shoots him a very unamused look. “You're looking for a way through the Subdome, aren't you?” he asks flatly.

“No!” Viktor yelps.

Yuuri just raises an eyebrow.

“... yes,” Viktor admits.

Yuuri sighs. “Viktor,” he says, “The Illuminatus is a  _ conspiracy theory forum.  _ You would have done better on Sci-club.”

Viktor bites his lip. That explains why there seemed to be no consensus and everyone seemed to be contradicting one another.

Yuuri just closes his eyes, breathing out slowly through his nose. “I'll help,” he says, and places his palm on Viktor’s watch. Viktor leans back, eyes widening, as his watch begins to project some sort of energy field. It's firm under his cautious touch, sparking in a way that feels and looks uncannily like—

“The Dome,” Yuuri explains, “When I touched the Subdome, I interfaced briefly with it to record its properties.”

“You were planning on breaking through the Subdome all along!” Viktor accuses, scandalized.

Yuuri winces.

“I was going to do it without your knowledge so that you wouldn't be implicated if I was found out,” he says sheepishly, “I meant it when I said I wouldn't risk you.”

Viktor smiles at that, leaning in to nuzzle against Yuuri’s cheek. “I'm touched,” he whispers, “but we’re in this together, remember?”

He presses a chaste kiss to Yuuri’s jaw, before pulling back to open up a program on his watch.

“I'll look through the code for the Dome,” he says, “There  _ must  _ be some weakness that we can temporarily exploit to get us through. Can you pull up the Dome’s programming here?”

Yuuri kisses his temple.

“Alright,” he says, and begins to tap away at the screen, “I think if I could just—”

  
  
  


A distant ringing wakes him from a deep sleep. He startles, turning over, and knocks his head into something soft, yet strangely firm. That something leans back, and he opens his eyes to see Yuuri blinking down at him. 

His watch trills again, and he scrambles out of Yuuri’s lap, tapping on his watch to accept the call.

The call opens on Yuri’s furiously scowling face.

“I called you three times, Viktor!” he immediately begins to complain, “Not to mention, you missed our call on Monday, and last week too! You better have been working on something  _ really  _ important, or I'm never agreeing to call you again!”

With a loud huff, Yuri crosses his arms, looking away. Viktor immediately winces. Despite all the bluster, Yuri’s bottom lip is trembling. He’s hurt.

“I'm sorry.” Viktor desperately fishes for an excuse, and fails. “I had work,” he says, wincing at how flimsy that sounds, “I'm sorry.”

“Whatever,” Yuri mutters, still stand-offish.

“I’m  _ really  _ sorry.”

“I don't care!”

Viktor looks desperately to Yuuri for help. Yuuri is watching their conversation with an alarmed expression. He shrugs helplessly at Viktor’s pleading glance. Viktor turns back to the screen, where Yuri is still pointedly not looking at him. He looks back at Yuuri, then at Yuri again. 

He’s— pretty much broken every rule he could possibly have broken by now, hasn't he? 

One more isn't going to matter, is it?

Making up his mind, he leans in towards the screen, cupping one hand around his mouth and lowering his voice. “Hey,” he whispers, “You wanna see what I've been working on?”

Yuri lights up immediately, interest clearly piqued, but then frowns.

“Your work is classified,” he points out suspiciously.

“Well,” Viktor begins, and laughs, “I’ve never been one for rules really, have I? Either way, I feel like all I’ve been doing at work lately is break rules.”

Yuri snorts, gleeful, but somehow scandalized at the same time. “You better be careful not to get found out, old man!” he yells.

Viktor laughs, and beckons Yuuri to come over. Yuuri approaches with some trepidation.

“Ta-da!” Viktor sings, gesturing towards Yuuri triumphantly.

“Erm,” Yuuri says, “Hi.”

Yuri squints.

“Who are  _ you?”  _ he demands, and then recoils,  _ “Have you been listening the entire time?!” _

Viktor clears his throat loudly. He may have gone about this in a poorly thought out manner.  _ Damage control. _

“This is Yuuri,” he announces, “He’s an android.”

“I'm an android,” Yuuri confirms awkwardly.

“A sentient one,” Viktor adds, “He’s extremely smart, and funny, and charming, and— and amazing in every way—”

_ “Oh my god, Viktor,” _ Yuuri moans, putting his face in his hands,  _ “Stop.” _

“Wait,” Yuri says, and squints, “Are  _ you _ — the  _ ‘chatbot’  _ Viktor said he was working on? The one he had to teach to read for some reason and ended up outsmarting him?” He rolls his eyes. “Not that it takes someone particularly smart to do that,” he mutters.

“Hey!” Viktor yelps.

Yuuri laughs. “Yes,” he says, “That’s me.”

Yuri sucks in a breath.  _ “Why do we have the same name?!” _ he howls, and— is that  _ seriously _ the thing he's choosing to focus on here? “This is going to get so confusing!”

“We could always give you a nickname,” Viktor teases, smiling sunnily.

“I refuse!” Yuri yells, “I was here first! Give  _ him  _ a nickname!”

“I guess you're Yurio from now on!” Viktor crows.

_ “I refuse to answer to that!” _

The argument eventually concludes with Yuri declaring himself Yuri v1, Yuuri as Yuuri v2, and Viktor as— _ Viktor the Idiot! We could have avoided all this if he hadn't given us the same name! _ By the time they finally end the call, Yuri seems to have taken particularly to Yuuri. He’d abandoned  _ Yuuri v2  _ in place of  _ Katsuki,  _ which had soon become  _ the Katsudroid.  _ Yuuri had just laughed indulgently and accepted the nickname.

“He’s just like an angry kitten,” he observes fondly, after the call ends.

“What's a kitten?” Viktor asks.

“It's an animal that's small and cute but has sharp claws,” Yuuri explains, “It scratches when angry but can easily be placated with belly rubs. Once it decides it likes you, you're pretty much set. Otherwise, it tends to be a little prickly.”

“Sounds like our Yurio!” Viktor concludes cheerily.

The next few days pass in hours spent trawling whatever code Yuuri can generate from his interfacing with the Subdome. Yuuri even spends a day on the Darknet, but there is surprising dearth of literature on the subject of the Dome.

“I don't think anyone actually knows,” Yuuri muses, “Either that, or everyone in the know is just keeping mysteriously silent.”

“But why?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri frowns. “Maybe they don't want the Bodypolitik to know that they know what they know,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe someone is going through the Darknet and moderating stuff out. What if the Bodypolitik has infiltrated the Darknet and is wiping out sensitive content?!”

Viktor laughs. “Yuuri,” he teases, “Were you reading threads on The Illuminatus again?”

“I might have gotten a little sucked in,” Yuuri admits.

They even ask Yuri for his opinion, under the guise of ‘impact testing’ a ‘mysterious glass-like material’. Yuri offers his opinion. It's not very helpful.

“I would punch it,” he says, without hesitation.

After a few days of brainstorming, they decide to take a break from all the thinking. Viktor buys some sandwiches from the canteen, and they head back home for an impromptu picnic while they consolidate what they know.

“We know... that the Dome is strong,” Viktor murmurs. They are sitting in the gazebo overlooking the koi pond, Viktor stretched out on the bench with his head in Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri is stroking his fingers absently through Viktor’s hair, and it is making him  _ very _ sleepy.

“Maybe,” Viktor continues, blinking himself awake, “if we could make a tool that could exert a large amount of concentrated force? Do you think we could commission someone to make a tool like that without arousing suspicion?”

“You're a scientist,” Yuuri points out, “Can’t  _ you  _ make it?”

“I'm an AI programmer, not an engineer,” Viktor retorts, and yawns, “I actually nearly failed physics when I was in St. Peter’s. I just don't  _ get  _ it.”

“What if I punched it?” Yuuri muses.

Viktor groans.

“Let’s not entertain the poorly thought out ideas of a sixteen-year-old,” he grumbles.

“No,” Yuuri says, “A large amount of concentrated force. I could just—  _ punch it.” _

Viktor considers the idea slowly in his semi-somnolent state. He yawns again, wider this time, and rubs groggily at his eyes. His brain isn't working. He’s just— too sleepy.

“You  _ are  _ very strong,” he admits.

“Okay, it's settled then,” Yuuri says, a familiar determined glint in his eyes, “We’ll try that tomorrow.”

Viktor tries to process that, and fails. After a few moments of trying, he finally gives up.

“Mm,” Viktor mumbles, and closes his eyes. A few moments later, he is fast asleep.

  
  
  


The next day, they pull up the projection of the Dome on Viktor’s watch, standing together in the middle of the office. They’ve pulled the office desk out onto the mat. Yuuri has even procured a helmet and safety goggles from Dr. Okukawa, who had lent it to him with limited questioning.

_ I don't want to know,  _ she'd said flatly.

“I say we should take the watch off you,” Yuuri says worriedly, eyes strangely large through the goggles, “What if I hurt you?”

“What if you hurt  _ yourself?” _ Viktor points out, just as worriedly, as he takes the watch off, “What if you break your wrist? What if you punch it and it explodes and seriously hurts you?! I’m not an engineer. I won't know what to do if you damage your body.”

“We don't exactly have any better ideas,” Yuuri says, “and I doubt it's going to explode. Have you heard of any instances of the Dome exploding on someone and hurting them? The Bodypolitik would probably make it publicly known if the Dome  _ did  _ explode under high force. It'd definitely serve as a deterrent against messing around with it.”

Viktor bites his lip. Unfortunately, Yuuri is right.

“Alright,” he acquiesces, setting the watch down on the table carefully so that the projection of the Dome is pointing straight upwards, and tests the projection with a slight push. It's firm under his touch. He retreats to a corner of the office. “Ready?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he draws a fist back—

— and  _ punches _ the projection.

Viktor yelps, ducking down as the watch _ricochets_ off the far wall. There's a _crunch,_ a _ping,_ the sound of glass shattering — Yuuri cries out as the lights go out, leaving them in darkness — a loud _crash_ , before, finally — silence.

Viktor looks up slowly.

There’s a small crater in one of the walls, a long dented scratch along the metal filing cabinets, and a  _ hole  _ in the door of the wooden wardrobe next to him. The glass of the lights above is on the floor in pieces, and Yuuri— is squatting on the floor miserably, face in his hands, but is thankfully still in one piece. Viktor stands, and gingerly opens the wardrobe. His watch is lying on the floor inside, sparking and smoking. He's going to have to buy a replacement.

The door slams open. Viktor whips around to see Dr. Okukawa standing silhouetted in the doorway.

“What happened?!” she demands, “What was all that noise?” She squints. “Why are you standing in the dark?” 

She feels along the wall for the light switch and flicks it. She looks up at the ceiling, confusedly, and then flicks the switch again. Nothing happens. She squints harder, and then recoils at the broken glass shards on the floor.

“What  _ happened  _ to the office?!”

Yuuri continues to squat, perfectly still, in the middle of it all. 

“I decided to try punching something,” he says miserably into his hands, “and it wrecked the office.”

They agree, later on, that punching the Dome is probably not a good idea.

  
  
  


They have to postpone one of their calls with Yuri while Viktor gets a new watch. When the call connects the next night, Viktor is surprised to spot a dark head of hair at the table behind Yuri. He and Yuuri are sitting against the headboard in his room together. They’ve temporarily vacated Viktor’s office while the lights get fixed. They scoot apart a little as Yuri shoots a meaningful look to the turned head behind him.

“Katsudr—” Yuri begins loudly, and winces. “ _ Katsuki _ ,” he corrects, “I promised you I’d introduce you to Beka.”

Viktor shoots a questioning look at Yuuri, and Yuuri nods. Well, Viktor thinks, shrugging, he’d missed that conversation then. He’d frankly not expected how much Yuri had taken to Yuuri. There’ve been many nights where Viktor had fallen asleep while the two of them had continued talking, or had quietly done something by himself while they talked. The two of them had quickly become friends in their own right, and Viktor is endlessly grateful for that. It's nice having two of the people he cares most about get along.

“Beka,” Yuri calls over his shoulder, “Come and meet Katsuki. He's— err, a family friend.”

Yuri turns back to grimace at them both. Behind him, Otabek stands, turning around curiously, and comes nearer to sit beside Yuri. He smiles, polite and attentive.

“It's nice to meet you,” he greets Yuuri.

Yuuri smiles. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, and gets a warning look from Yuri for that.

“I've heard a lot about you too,” Otabek returns, and gets a slap to the arm.

“Have you both heard a lot about me too?” Viktor coos.

Yuri shushes him, glaring, and turns to Beka. “Don't mind him,” he says, “He’s being dumb.”

Otabek’s eyes soften. “So what have you been saying about me to other people?” he asks, faintly teasing.

“Nothing!” Yuri says loudly, and— and blushes. “I just mentioned we study together and then Katsuki was all like— oh, I must meet this person who's being such a good influence on our Yuri.”

Otabek laughs. “Alright,” he allows, “I believe you.”

Yuri crosses his arms sullenly. Under the scowl, however, his blush is deepening.

They talk for a while until it's time for Otabek to leave. There’s a curfew at St. Peter’s, Yuri explains, and Otabek has to be back in his room by then. Soon after that, Yuri bids them farewell, and ends the call. Viktor sits by himself for a moment, pensive, while Yuuri changes into pajamas.

“Yuuri,” he begins thoughtfully, as Yuuri pulls his shirt over his head, “Have you ever thought it—  _ strange _ the way Yuri talks about Otabek?”

“Hmm?” Yuuri returns, absently, unhooking a hanger from the closet to hang his shirt on.

Viktor squirms.

“I think our Yuri has a crush on Otabek,” he blurts out in a rush, and then groans, “I don't know how I've never noticed before, but in retrospect, it’s just  _ so obvious!” _

Yuuri drops the hanger, bends to pick it up, gets entangled in one of Viktor’s coats, and after a short battle with it, topples headfirst in the closet. The closet doors slam shut on him. Viktor sits up, alarmed, but the doors are opening again before he can get too worried. Yuuri emerges sheepishly from the closet, a guilty look on his face, and Viktor narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious. “Yuuri,” he begins sternly, “Did you  _ know?” _

Yuuri grimaces. “So somehow the android thing made Yuri feel a little more comfortable admitting to me that he might have a crush on Otabek,” he explains quickly, “and even though I kept insisting that you wouldn't mind, he was still too afraid to tell you, and he specifically forbade me from telling you so I—” He deflates. “So I couldn't just  _ tell _ you about it,” he finishes miserably.

Viktor blinks a few times, processing that. He laughs, a little disbelievingly, and then shakes his head. “Is there something in the water in our house?” he jokes weakly, “How did both of us end up like—” He struggles for the right words for a bit, before he makes a vague gesture at himself. “This,” he concludes, flatly. He frowns as a new thought occurs to him. “Are they together?” he asks.

Yuuri shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, “not yet.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Not  _ yet?” _

“Otabek likes him back,” Yuuri says bluntly, “It’s really just a matter of time.”

Viktor raises both eyebrows, blinking. “Hold on, how do you know Otabek likes Yuri?”

“From what Yuri’s said about him.” Yuuri pauses. “Also,” he continues, “During the call just now, I noticed that his pupils dilated whenever he looked at Yuri.”

Viktor sits back against the headboard. He's still— not sure what to think about all this. On one hand, he's glad that Yuri’s found love and friendship. On the other—

“Please tell Yuri to be careful,” he sighs.

  
  
  


When the knock comes at the end of the month, Viktor all but jumps out of his skin, knocking his forehead painfully against Yuuri’s. They had been leaning over his new watch, trying, for the countlessth time, to figure out how to work the new interface. He’s still holding his head, eyes watering, when the door opens. The clerk from central desk peers in expressionlessly.

“The First Assistant Commissioner would like to see you,” he says.

Viktor wipes his hands on his pants, shooting Yuuri a glance, and then gets up to follow the clerk to the top floor, where he is promptly ushered into the First Assistant Commissioner’s office. The man looks up at Viktor’s entrance, smiling when he catches sight of Viktor. He takes an evaluation form from the tray on his table, and then puts his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers neatly.

“The end of the month again,” he notes, “Doesn't time fly?”

“It does,” Viktor says, and coughs, mouth a little dry. He looks down, tangling his fingers together in his lap nervously.

“Why so nervous?” the First Assistant Commissioner asks, and laughs, “It’s just a performance evaluation. Haven't we done this before?”

“Performance anxiety,” Viktor chokes, “Don't mind me.”

His palms have gone sweaty. He wipes them on his pants again, biting his lip as the First Assistant Commissioner picks up a pen, leaning over the evaluation form.

“So,” he begins casually, “I notice you’ve been taking the prototype out a lot.” He makes a mark on the paper somewhere, before continuing, “Have you managed to uncover any memories?”

“I've hit a block,” Viktor blurts out, “Yuuri is extremely developed but somehow doesn't seem any closer to accessing his memories and I— Well, Mari seemed to have been taken him out a lot as well so—”

He trails off. The First Assistant Commissioner calmly makes another mark on the form. “So you've been trying to trigger his memories,” he says.

“Yes,” Viktor agrees, relieved, “That’s it.”

“Where have you been bringing him?”

Viktor flounders for a moment. “Places he might have gone to with Mari,” he makes up, after some hesitation, “Central Park. Uh, Mari’s home in the Outer Capitol. Mostly the canteen on the third floor. The other researchers seem to know Yuuri.”

“Sounds fair,” the First Assistant Commissioner says, making a final mark on the form, before putting his pen down and looking up at Viktor with a smile. “You’ve gotten quite friendly with the prototype, haven't you? You two seem close.”

Viktor blinks. “Uh, yes,” he admits, trying to figure out what the man is trying to get at, and failing. “Yuuri is— quite unlike anyone else. I'm honored to have gotten the chance to meet him, to work on this project.”

“I'm glad you seem to be enjoying your work,” the First Assistant Commissioner says, chuckling. He interlocks his fingers below his chin and tilts his head pleasantly, still wearing that blank smile. “I hope you remember that we've granted you a fair bit of privilege so that you can go about finishing this project in whatever way you see fit. We’ve even promised to gift the prototype to you upon completion of the project. We've never made a similar offer to another person.”

“Right,” Viktor chokes.

“The Bodypolitik is getting impatient,” the man continues, voice pleasant, “This is a matter of national security. You understand that, right? They’ve been waiting, and they are not quite as patient as I am — they want to see results.”

“B-but,” Viktor stutters, “Why is it a matter of national security?”

The First Assistant Commissioner’s smile drops away. Without the smile, his eyes are cold, cold enough to send chills up Viktor’s spine. Viktor flinches away instinctively, shocked.

Within seconds, the First Assistant Commissioner is smiling again. “My,” he says airily, “Aren't you full of questions today?”

Viktor just shakes his head mutely.

The First Assistant Commissioner picks up the evaluation form, sliding it into his tray, before turning back to Viktor. 

“You may go,” he allows.

Viktor has never left a room so quickly. He makes a beeline to the lifts, not even turning to say goodbye, and sags against the wall the moment the lift doors close behind him. What  _ was _ that?  _ What was that?  _ He bends over, putting his hands on his knees. He's still shaking, knees weak from that encounter.

Yuuri double-takes as he comes into the office, closing the door behind him. “Are you okay?” he demands worriedly, standing up, “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Worse,” Viktor admits shakily, and walks into Yuuri’s open arms.

He quickly recounts what had happened. Yuuri draws back when he's done, looking appalled and horrified.

“We need to tell them  _ something,”  _ he hisses, but Viktor shakes his head vehemently.

“We know that Mari was wary of revealing anything to the Bodypolitik,” he says, “but until we figure out her last message, we can't know for sure why that was. What if we give away something important? We can't be too hasty about this.”

“We  _ need  _ to be hasty about this,” Yuuri whispers harshly, and lets out a sharp breath. “He said it was a matter of  _ national security _ . Why would a mental health solution be a matter of  _ national security? _ Mari must have found out why.  _ This  _ must be the reason they—”

His voice breaks, and he puts a hand over his mouth. Viktor takes his other hand in both of his. 

Yuuri turns to him, imploringly. “And they might do the same to you,” he pleads, “Viktor, we  _ need _ to feed them  _ something.  _ Something small, like—” He shrugs helplessly.  _ “Something.  _ I don’t know. _ ” _

Viktor bites his lip. “Then we need to find a way through the Subdome,” he says firmly, “No more dallying. We need to know why Mari left us these coordinates. We need to know what she found out.”

Yuuri closes his eyes. “Fine,” he says, “Then let’s work on getting to those coordinates.”

He moves away, but Viktor crowds close to press his lips to Yuuri’s cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers.

For a moment, there is no response. Then, Yuuri hooks an arm slowly around Viktor’s neck, turning his lips to Viktor’s temple. Viktor closes his eyes. They sit there for awhile, in silence, breathing quietly against one another, until Yuuri finally pulls away. He taps on Viktor’s watch, bringing up an internet browser.

“Okay,” he says, “Let’s do this.”

 


	9. The Road Trip Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!
> 
>  
> 
> **There is no sexual content here, but shit is going down. Please mind that the Dystopia tag comes into full force in this chapter!!! Warnings: violence, past mind-alteration, bonded labour**

**** He is curled up on the mat, dozing, when they receive the call. He scrambles upright as the ringing starts, and across the mat, Yuuri looks up from the stack of books he’d gotten from the library. His face is drawn, anxious, and it feels like the tension hasn't left his shoulders for days. Viktor can't help but worry again. He offers Yuuri a tentative smile.

“Shall I take the call?”

Yuuri shrugs, listlessly. Viktor bites his lip.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, chuckling, “We have enough time to take this call. You've been researching for hours. We can afford to take a break.”

Yuuri just sighs, but shifts over to sit beside Viktor. Viktor taps his watch to accept the call. 

When Yuri’s face appears, he raises an eyebrow at the two of them.

“What on earth…  _ happened _ here?” he asks, casting an incredulous eye over the books scattered around them, the takeaway packets from the canteen, down to the spot covered in wet tissues where Viktor had spilled a drink and not had the energy to properly clean it up. Viktor flattens his hair self-consciously with one hand. He’s sure it's still sticking up.

“We’re working on a project,” Yuuri sighs, “It’s not going well.”

“What project?” Yuri asks.

The crease between Yuuri’s brows only deepens, and Viktor quickly takes over, clearing his throat. “I'm not sure how to explain,” he says, “It’s kind of classified.”

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Wow,” he says sarcastically, “Who would have guessed?”

Viktor grins sheepishly. Yuri seems to notice Yuuri’s mood then, because he nods towards Yuuri, raising an eyebrow. Viktor bites his lip, and shrugs, helplessly.

“Weeeelp,” Yuri begins, dragging out the word and popping the p loudly, “We’ve just done our end of term exams and are waiting for it to be marked. Until then, we don't have much to do. I thought I might work a bit on a gaming bot I've been trying to program, but I don't really need it anymore. Otabek plays with me when I need a partner. We’ve just been playing this puzzle game together while waiting for the marking period to be over.”

He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for a response. When none comes, he clears his throat.

“Katsudroid!” he announces, “Play with me!”

Yuuri blinks, looking up.

“Me?”

Yuri rolls his eyes again. “Who else?” he snaps. “Viktor is completely useless at games! If not you, who's going to help me beat this game?”

Viktor watches Yuuri anxiously. After a moment, Yuuri’s surprise softens into reluctant indulgence. Relief comes over Viktor as Yuuri’s eyes turn tender, exasperated but fond, in the way they always are with Yuri.

“Alright then,” Yuuri agrees, “Show me how to play this game.”

Yuri pulls up a separate screen, grinning triumphantly. They spend a few minutes tethering their systems together and connecting Viktor’s controller to the game before Yuri clicks on the game icon. “It's called Dungeon Double and it's a two-player puzzle game,” he explains as, with a little tinny tone, the desktop fades away and is replaced with an 8-bit screen.

“Wow,” Viktor comments, “How vintage.”

“We’ll just start a new game,” Yuri says, clicking impatiently through some kind of intro. “Viktor, give him your controller.”

Viktor does so.

Two characters spawn along a tunnel, in what seems to be a maze. “These are doors,” Yuri explains, pointing with his cursor, “and the aim of the game is to get through all of them to the exit, which is this red star here. You can do so through a number of ways.”

He moves his character forward. “This is a switch,” he says, pointing again, “Sometimes, a door can be opened by pressing down on all the right switches. There are usually a number of rocks, carts, and other moveable items you can push onto the switches, but depending on the layout of the level, some items may be too large to pass through certain passages or doors. Your partner can also stand on a switch, but the catch is the door closes once they get off, so you have to figure out how to get both of you through the doors. There are also some chests, which may give you keys to open particular doors.”

He moves his character behind a rock, and rolls it onto a nearby switch. The first door opens. Behind it, there is a black figure prowling back and forth.

“That's a dungeon guard,” Yuri explains, “You have to time your movements so that the guard doesn't see you.” Once the guard is moving away, Yuri moves forward, and seemingly pushes a rock through the door. “Some doors are made of weak materials and can be destroyed by moveable objects.” He passes through the door and hides behind the wall, but as the guard turns back around, the screen begins to flash red. After a moment, the  _ Game Over _ screen comes on. “But if the guard notices a broken door,” Yuri continues, “He will sound the alarm.”

“Wow, this is surprisingly complicated,” Viktor comments.

“That's why it's fun,” Yuri tells him, “Come on, Katsudroid. Pick up your controller and go stand on that switch. I’ll explain the rest as we go.”

They play together for about two hours. Yuuri seems to relax the longer they play, the listlessness leaving his eyes to be replaced with focused determination. Yuuri’s been—  _ anxious  _ lately, the tension in him only seeming to build and build. Viktor is relieved to see him coming back to a semblance of his usual self.

Finally, they reach a level with four doors and three guards. “Otabek and I have actually been stuck on this level awhile,” Yuri admits, “We can't figure out how to get through this door up here.” He points at one of the doors further up the screen. “We can get through this door by putting the rock on the switch.  _ This _ door can be opened using  _ this _ switch, but you have to time it properly so that the guard doesn't see you. This door is breakable, but  _ this  _ one.” Yuri agitatedly circles his cursor around the door in question, and sighs frustratedly. “We tried rolling a rock through it,” he complains, “but it's unbreakable. We’ve also tried all the combinations of switches that are currently available, but nothing is letting us through the door! I've looked through all the chests too and didn’t find anything that could help us open the door. We've been stumped for days.”

Viktor can't help but chuckle a little to himself. An unbreakable door that can't be opened using any of the resources they currently have? Sounds just like the problem they are facing. They definitely don't have anything strong enough to break the Dome with, whatever program they can recover from Yuuri’s first interface with the Dome has not given them much information, and they haven't been able to find any leads from books or online.

“Hey, but wait!” Yuuri exclaims, pointing, “There’s a guard here who's walking up and down through the door. Can we follow him through?”

Yuri shakes his head. “We've tried, but when we try to follow the guard through—” The door shuts on his character as he follows the guard through it, and the screen flashes red for a few seconds, before the  _ Game Over _ screen appears. “It seems to know that I'm not the guard, and sounds the alarm.”

“Try stacking the rocks on top of one another?” Viktor suggests, “Maybe one rock is not enough to break the door, but two or three will break it.”

“That's not how it works,” Yuri says flatly, idly pushing a rock in front of the door, and then walking back into the previous room to pick up another, rolling it beside the first rock. “See? They don't  _ stack _ . They just go next to one another.”

“Try putting one more on top!” Viktor insists, “There’s one more back there.”

Yuri sighs. “That's really not how it works,” he grumbles, but goes back two rooms to pick the other rock up anyway. He pauses a little to let a guard pass, before pushing the rock up the tunnel and behind the first two. It completely blocks out the tunnel, but the door holds. “See? They don't stack. Either way, even if it  _ could  _ break the door, the guard will see that it's been broken once he turns around and will sound the alarm.”

Right on cue, the patrolling guard turns back towards the door, but as it tries to follow its usual path up through the door, it runs against the rocks and seems to stall there, vibrating furiously in place. Yuuri’s eyebrows raise.

“It’s blocking the guard from passing the tunnel,” he observes, “but the door is still opening and closing?”

“Push the rocks away from the door!” Viktor directs excitedly.

Yuuri pushes the rock in front of the door one space down. When the door next opens, he slips neatly through it and into the next room.

“Oh my god,” Yuri says.

_ “Oh my god,”  _ Yuuri says.

_ “Oh my god!”  _ Viktor says, clapping his hands excitedly, “You did it!”

“It thought I was the guard,” Yuri says, gaping, “Oh my god, I had no idea you could just  _ do that _ . I need to tell Beka!”

“Yuri,” Yuuri says, suddenly, as Yuri begins to text furiously, “We’ve got to go. We’ll call you back later.”

“Wait, wha—”

Yuuri ends the call.

“Yuuri?” Viktor yelps, shocked, “Why did you hang up?”

Yuuri turns around and grabs Viktor by the shoulders, eyes dead serious. “Are there people who are authorized to move in and out of the Dome?” he asks in a low voice.

Viktor gets his point immediately. “Military personnel,” he says, “There are also plenty of delivery vehicles bringing produce and manufactured items into the Capitol, and then going back out into the Sectors.”

“Is that some kind of schedule for that we can find?” Yuuri asks.

“Definitely not,” Viktor says, and shakes his head, “No way. It's too much of a security risk to have such information publicly available. If it's on a server somewhere, it's probably heavily encrypted.”

“Then we just need to get to the Subdome and see how we go from there,” Yuuri says determinedly, standing up.

“Whoa, whoa,” Viktor cries, raising both hands, “I think we're being a little too hasty here.” 

Yuuri folds his arms, frowning, and Viktor quickly stands too, hands up and smiling placatingly.

“I doubt we can just— follow behind a delivery truck and sneak through the Dome,” he says, chuckling, still somewhat bewildered by the fast turn their conversation has taken, “This is way too risky.”

“Every move we make is risky, Viktor,” Yuuri retorts, “Every  _ moment _ we spend here, right under the thumb of the Bodypolitik, is risky. We’re sitting on a ticking bomb. Don't you remember what they said the last time you saw them?”

Viktor bites his lip, grasping Yuuri by the arms and taking a step closer. “Yuuri, you don't have to worry about that,” he appeases, “Yuuri, you've been so stressed out lately when you don't have to be. Let’s take it easy. We have plenty of time.”

“No. We. Don't,” Yuuri insists forcefully, “We’re running out of time.”

“We still have a good two weeks until my next performance evaluation,” Viktor argues.

“Two weeks will fly by very quickly.”

“Things aren't going to escalate so quickly,” Viktor reasons, and smiles, “It’s just been one poor performance evaluation. It's no big deal. We still have time.”

“That's what Mari thought, and she's  _ gone!” _

Yuuri’s shout rings loud in the quiet office. Viktor takes a step back, shocked, as Yuuri turns away, putting a hand over his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut.

Finally, Viktor manages to choke out a chuckle, trying desperately to make light of the situation. “God, I’m really bad at dealing when people are upset,” he says, and jokes, “Can I just kiss this all away?”

_ “No, you can't!” _

Viktor takes another step back as Yuuri turns on him.

“This was exactly what happened the last time,” he snaps, “She’d been getting warnings at her monthly evaluations, but  _ it's okay _ , she'd say,  _ it's just a poor performance evaluation. It’s fine.  _ It’s fine, it’s fine, she kept saying, until one day— she was gone. Just like that— just gone and—”

He puts his face in his hands again.

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, putting a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, but Yuuri just shrugs it off.

“There was no warning,” he says, hollow, “I— didn't even get to say goodbye. I didn't even— think to tell her I loved her, one last time, when she left the office that day.”

“I'm sorry,” Viktor whispers. “Tell me how I can make you feel better.”

“Just treat your life as precious as you would treat mine,” Yuuri cries, “Just stay with me! I can't lose you too, Viktor. I can't.”

“Okay,” Viktor says, “Okay. Come here.”

He pulls Yuuri to his side, pressing Yuuri’s face into his shoulder. Yuuri clutches at the back of his shirt, breath hitching in Viktor’s ear, and just  _ clings _ . Viktor buries his face into Yuuri’s hair. His heart aches with every one of Yuuri’s hitched breaths.

“It’s not that I don't value my life, you know,” Viktor whispers, “It’s just that you've been so stressed out and anxious lately. I guess my first instinct was to try to lighten the situation. I didn't know it was making you more anxious. I'm sorry.”

Yuuri pulls back, lips turning down. “Then, I’m sorry I’ve been so anxious,” he returns. “I'm just  _ so  _ worried and I don't know if I can relax until this is all over.”

Viktor lets out a breath, and musters up a smile. “Well,” he says, laughing nervously, “What if we go check out the Subdome tomorrow? Maybe that will make the both of us feel better. I'll be honest and say I'll like to be able to tell the First Assistant Commissioner  _ something  _ at my next performance evaluation.”

Yuuri blinks, surprised, and then frowns. “But,” he begins, hesitantly, “Didn't you think we’re rushing into things too quickly? I worry that I'm miscalculating our risks because I've been so—”

Viktor smiles, putting a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “It's okay, right?” he says, “We’re just going to go scope out the delivery trucks entering and leaving the Subdome. That's not too risky.”

Yuuri smiles back. “Yeah,” he says, and lowers his eyes, “Thanks.”

They talk for awhile more, making all the necessary plans, before they leave the office to head back home. Viktor stops by Dr. Okukawa’s office to let her know that he’ll be working from home the next day, and Yuuri waves goodbye. After that, they board the crowded shuttle back.

The next morning, they head out for the Outer Capitol.

  
  
  


The roads are completely empty of people when they reach the Subdome. They walk quietly through the silent streets, occasionally ducking into alleys when they hear the steady marching of combat boots— military personnel. There are a hundred tiny lanes leading out of the Capitol. Unmarked trucks rattle slowly by in uneven intervals, seemingly phasing through the Subdome without resistance. When they put a hand on the Subdome after a truck passes, however, the Subdome is still perfectly firm.

Half an hour into their reconnaissance, Yuuri snaps around, suddenly alert. Viktor understands why a few moments later.

Hushed snickers and whispering issues from a nearby lane. They peer around the corner in time to see two teens, young, dirty-faced, and dressed in greying patched-up clothes, seemingly spray-painting something onto the side of a building. Viktor is abruptly glad that he and Yuuri decided to dress down a little to blend in. The boys startle when they notice Viktor and Yuuri, and then scurry off quickly into the network of alleys.

Viktor cups his hands around his eyes and peers into the darkened window of the building.

“It's a warehouse,” he tells Yuuri.

“That makes sense,” Yuuri muses, “All of these buildings must be warehouses. No wonder it's so quiet out here.”

He trails a finger thoughtfully over the vandalized wall as they move on to the next lane. There are parts that are pressure-hosed clean, and others that are covered completely in graffiti. Viktor wonders how often these walls are cleaned.

Finally, they stop in a dirty alley against the Subdome. There is an overflowing dumpster against one wall, filled with rotting produce, probably the ones that had gone bad on the trip into the Capitol, and the walls are badly vandalized. When they peer into the windows, the shelves are filled with crates of vegetables.

“If there's some kind of schedule,” Viktor says, “I'm not sure how much help it will be to us. The vehicles just seem to phase right through. I doubt we can just follow them.”

Yuuri puts his hand on the Subdome, closing his eyes, and Viktor fidgets nervously. He looks quickly over one shoulder, but they are alone in the alley. No one seems to be approaching. 

After a moment, Yuuri straightens up, turning around. “There's some kind of access criteria programmed into it,” he notes, “The vehicles are registered. They can pass in and out whenever they need. I think the access criteria are on a server one layer deeper. I might be able to locate it.”

“Will you leave a trace?” Viktor asks, nervous, “Usually, your IP address will be recorded or something. Is it safe?”

Yuuri smiles, wryly.

“I'm not a computer,” he says, “I don't have an IP address.”

He puts his hand back on the Subdome, closing his eyes again. Viktor nervously turns to keep a lookout. He can hear the distant sound of marching boots, but they seem to be getting louder. A platoon is approaching.

Just as he's about to call out to Yuuri, there is a loud beep.

He turns in time to see Yuuri’s shoulders go slack. Next, his knees buckle, and he crumples to the ground. Viktor steps forward instinctively to catch him, eyes widening, but topples at the weight of Yuuri’s body. One of his shoulders slams painfully into the brick wall as he goes down, but he bites down the pained cry.

“Yuuri?” he hisses, and when that garners no response, he shakes Yuuri hard by one shoulder,  _ “Yuuri?!” _

He’s broken from his panic by the approaching sound of steady marching. He looks up towards the entrance of the alley.  _ Military personnel _ . Quickly, he heaves Yuuri behind the dumpster, pulling his legs in so that they don't stick out. He crouches down and puts his face in Yuuri’s shoulder, making himself as small as possible.

Heavy boots continue to stomp rhythmically past the alley for long minutes, a whole platoon seemingly passing. Viktor just shuts his eyes tight as the footsteps pass, and then fade slowly into the distance.

Finally— silence.

Viktor straightens slowly, peering carefully around the dumpster. There's no one else around. They are alone again. He turns back to Yuuri, leaning down to put his ear against Yuuri’s chest, but there is no sound.

“Yuuri,” he murmurs, “Power up.”

To his utter relief, there is a beep, before Yuuri’s chest begins to vibrate again. Yuuri opens his eyes slowly, frowning. “Wha—?”

Viktor yanks Yuuri to his chest, hugging him fiercely. “You shut down suddenly,” Viktor tells him, “Are you okay? What went wrong?”

Yuuri pulls away from him, sobering quickly, and leans in close with a serious look on his face. “I found the access criteria on the underlying server,” he murmurs.

“You did?” Viktor yelps, “Then— why did you shut down?”

“As I was exploring the server, I noticed that it seemed to be embedded in a larger server.” Yuuri laughs a little sheepishly. “I probably should had thought it through better before digging deeper,” he admits. “After that, I somehow wound up in this _huge_ network underlying the _entire_ city, _including_ the Sectors, and was attacked by some kind of— of antibody there _?_ I shut myself down to stop it from accessing my systems.”

“Antibody?” Viktor repeats.

Yuuri nods. “I'm not sure what exactly that network was for,” he says, “But it was  _ huge _ . It was like a bright underground cavern with data bits streaming in from all over the city, heavily guarded by those antibody bots.” He brightens up, and offers Viktor a mischievous wink. “That aside,” he continues, “look what I can do now.”

Viktor slaps both hands over his mouth as Yuuri reaches out for the Subdome— and _ phases right through it.  _ Yuuri turns toward him with a triumphant look on his face, before stepping  _ into _ the Subdome, forming an arch with one arm. A human-sized hole opens up underneath his arm.

“Come on,” he hisses, jerking his head outwards, “Let’s  _ go. _ ”

Viktor just stares for a moment, mouth open, before he properly processes what Yuuri is suggesting. He shakes his head vehemently, drawing backwards and folding his arms sternly across his chest.

“No,” he says.

Yuuri’s brows draw together. “What's wrong?” he asks.

Viktor lets out an exasperated noise. “We said we were just going to scope out the place!” he says helplessly, “Not— run out into the Sectors without a proper plan!”

“Weren't we going to scope out the Subdome _so_ _that_ we could go through it?” Yuuri demands, “Now we’ve found a way through so let's _go._ We can get this over with now.”

“What is Yakov going to think?” Viktor frets, still reeling, “What about Dr. Okukawa? We’re not going to be back by tomorrow— I can't just  _ disappear  _ like this!”

“Call them,” Yuuri hisses, “Tell Yakov you have a deadline and will be staying over at my apartment. Ask for three days leave from Minako. She won't even ask you why, trust me.”

“You're rushing into things again, Yuuri!” Viktor says, throwing his hands up, “We need a plan. We need to— sit down, and— and  _ talk _ about this first.”

“What could we conceivably need to talk about?” Yuuri demands, exasperated.

Viktor flounders. He opens his mouth, struggling for words, but none come. It's true that there's really not that much that they can plan for. Out beyond the Subdome is just a void, the great unknown, and there's little they can do to plan for it. Still, there's something stopping him, an internal hurdle he can't seem to get over. He turns away frustratedly, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I don't know,” he admits.

Yuuri seems to soften a little then. “Viktor?” he asks, more gently this time, and slides an arm around Viktor’s waist, “Viktor, what’s wrong?”

“I don't know,” Viktor admits, and groans, growing frustrated with himself, “I'm just— I guess I'm just not ready. I’m— I'm scared. Leaving the Subdome is  _ big _ , Yuuri. It’s one of the most fundamental rules that you  _ just can't break.” _

Yuuri bites his lip. “Some things—” he begins, hesitantly, “aren't they worth breaking rules over?”

Viktor sighs, closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees, and looks down at the floor, not meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

Yuuri watches him for a few moments longer. “Never mind,” he says finally, “It’s okay. Let’s go back.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor sighs.

“No, I'm sorry,” Yuuri insists, and averts his gaze guiltily, “I’m doing a terrible job of respecting your feelings, the way you respect mine. If you're not ready to do this, I don't want to make you, I—” He huffs out a breath. “We don't even  _ need  _ to follow Mari’s message,” he says, “We can figure out our situation another way, a less risky way. There's got to be a better way of doing this.”

He holds his hand out, and Viktor takes it, hesitantly. Yuuri smiles.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers, “okay?”

He turns, and begins to walk back towards the shuttle station, pulling Viktor gently along with him. Viktor bites his lip as he allows himself to be led, feeling— feeling  _ ashamed,  _ despite himself. His eyes can’t help but alight on the prominent silhouette of the Bodypolitik complex in the faraway distance, its one eye blinking pensively down at him, watching — always watching. As a child, he had always associated its all-seeing gaze with a sense of comfort and safety.

When had that changed?

When had he grown to be so frightened of that all-seeing eye?

Inside of him, the fear turns steadily into determination, into  _ anger.  _ He closes his eyes, digging his heels in. Yuuri stumbles a little as their connected arms draw tight between them, and then turns around, surprised.

“No,” Viktor says.

“No?” Yuuri asks.

_ “No,”  _ Viktor says, more firmly. He takes in a deep breath. “I don't— I don't want to keep living in  _ fear _ , Yuuri,” he says, “I meant it when I said that your love has taught me a life I've never known before. You've taught me how to be free, and now, I want to learn to stop fearing my freedom.”

Under Yuuri’s surprised gaze, he taps quickly at his watch, sending a short message to Yakov, and then to Dr. Okukawa. He gets a response immediately from Dr. Okukawa.  _ Noted. _

A second later, Yakov’s response comes in.

_ Don't forget to sleep,  _ it says.

“Viktor,” Yuuri begins, still sounding hesitant, but Viktor puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Up above the squat rooftops, the Bodypolitik eye blinks slowly down at him. He turns his back to it, straightening up determinedly as he comes face-to-face with the Subdome. His hands are trembling despite his best efforts, but he clenches them firmly shut to stop the tremors.

“Come on then,” he says, “Let’s do this.”

  
  
  


On the other side of the Subdome, identical factories stretch out into the far distance, perfectly spaced, perfectly white, smoke trailing up slowly from exhaust chimneys. There is no one on the streets that they can see, but when they peer discreetly into one of the windows, they see rows and rows of men and women seated by an assembly line, apparently just beginning the day’s work.

They continue to walk quietly through the deserted streets until they hear a shuttle approaching, and quickly duck into one of the alleys. The shuttle that passes them is  _ extremely _ large, big in breadth, length, and height. It stops a block down from them, and a man in military uniform steps off. He is holding a baton.

“Out,” he snaps.

Men and women begin to exit the vehicle, eyes down, and file silently into the different factories. The military officer steps away for a moment to watch over them, occasionally issuing a stern command, or a simple  _ hurry up! _

Yuuri grabs Viktor’s arm, pulling him up into the vehicle while the officer is occupied. They sit down quickly on the floor, receiving only a glance from the rest of the people inside the shuttle. Viktor frowns as he casts an eye over the inside of the vehicle.

Rows of people sit in close confinement, eyes lowered, not speaking. It's extremely cramped inside, with several levels to the vehicle, each only high enough for a human being to sit in. Viktor quickly lowers his eyes too as the military officer steps back onto the vehicle, cursing a little under his breath, and raps his baton sharply against the front of the vehicle. The door closes, and the shuttle begins to move again.

“We’re off schedule, so you lot better be a lot quicker at the next stop!” he yells.

The shuttle slows as it seems to come to an intersection. Looking out of the window, Viktor sees neat rows of factories going on for as far as the eye can see, smoke trailing up from exhaust chimneys. There are no gardens or parks, no break from the grey buildings. He can see people being herded into the factories by military officers.

The shuttle speeds up again once it's passed the intersection. Yuuri shoots him a glance, and Viktor bites his lip. What is  _ happening  _ out here?

At the next stop, the military officer steps off the vehicle again and begins to herd more people out of the shuttle. There’s a bit of a commotion as two men haul another man up between them, the man’s head lolling strangely, and try to usher him off the vehicle with them. As he exits the vehicle, the man begins to wail wordlessly, trying to pull himself away from the other two men, and finally managing to break free. He throws himself down on the ground, making strange distressed noises as he covers his head, peering up at the world with aghast confusion.

Viktor winces as the officer turns around, furious, and begins to hit him with his baton, yelling.

“What's wrong with him?” Yuuri whispers, distressed, “Why is he wailing like that?”

A scoff.

They turn, surprised, to the woman next to them. She wears a tattered shroud over her hair, not raising her head even as she mutters back, “Isn't it obvious? He's been  _ Altered _ .”

Viktor sucks in a breath, horrified. “What did he do to get Altered like  _ this?”  _ he breathes.

The woman shrugs, still not looking up. “All the Altered come down from the Capitol like this,” she mumbles, “Only god knows what they did up there.”

_ “All?” _ Yuuri hisses.

“Yeah, but not all of them end up this rowdy,” the woman says, “Most of them end up like Stoney here.”

She nods to the man sitting beside her. The man is just staring blankly forward, barely blinking.

“God,” Viktor whispers,  _ “God.” _

“Shush,” the woman snaps, “The guard is coming back on.”

Viktor falls silent, still feeling a little numb. Beside him, Yuuri appears to be doing no better. He looks sickened, eyes still fixed on the man beside them. The man does not respond at all, not even when the shuttle rocks violently over a ditch in the road, and the woman beside him knocks into him. He just continues to stare blankly — a shell.

  
  
  


For the rest of the morning, the shuttle just keeps on going, unloading people at various factories stop after stop. They are forced to get out when the last of the people leave the shuttle but manage to sneak onto the back of another shuttle that is filled with unlabeled crates of unlabeled white packets. They hide inside while it drives, stopping to unload crates at even intervals.

Eventually, Yuuri opens one of the packets and shows it to him. The inside is filled with some kind of mush, that Viktor soon realizes is  _ food.  _ He tries a bit of it, but is unable to finish the whole pack.

“I'll try again when I'm a little hungrier,” Viktor whispers, making a face, and Yuuri chuckles.

Night falls. They get off the shuttle when they come to an intersection where another shuttle has stopped. This time, people seem to be getting onto the shuttle, rather than off. Viktor and Yuuri slip in alongside the others, and sit down in a corner, squashed against the wall by the sheer volume of people being made to squeeze inside the vehicle.

The military officer in charge of the shuttle hands out packets of food before getting back on and pulling the door shut. The shuttle begins to move as the people around begin to dig in greedily, seeming very hungry. Viktor has a few spoons of the mush before he closes the packet. Beside him, he notices Yuuri hiding his packet.

“Judging from how hungry they are,” he whispers, “it's probably going to be a long time between meals. I’ll keep this one in case you get hungry.”

“I'm definitely not looking forward to eating more of this,” Viktor sighs.

The shuttle continues driving until factories turn to slums. Every once in awhile Yuuri will lean over to tap on the face of his watch a few times, where Viktor has drawn up a minimized view of their map. They are further away from the Capitol than Viktor would have ever thought possible, so far away that they can no longer see the ever-watchful gaze of the Bodypolitik eye on the horizon — and yet they are still a good distance away from their destination. The red star continues to flash slowly on the watch face, elusive and mysterious.

They eventually get off the shuttle when the last of the people in it leave. As the others file off into the slums, apparently making their way home, the two of them duck into a nearby alley. Once the streets have cleared, and the shuttle has left, Yuuri turns away, kneeling.

“Get on my back,” he whispers.

Viktor climbs on, and Yuuri takes off at a run, his pace perfectly even and astonishingly fast. In the faraway distance, Viktor can see the Subdome curving up and over their heads, marking the divide between Sector Blue and Sector Green.

“Rest,” Yuuri says, and Viktor lays his head obediently on Yuuri’s shoulder. He’s tired, of course, from travelling the whole day, but he doesn't think he can sleep like this. Still, Yuuri’s shoulder is comfortable and warm.

He decides to close his eyes for awhile.

  
  
  


Yuuri shakes him awake some time later. The sky is still dark overhead, and they are crouched in an alley right by the Subdome. On the other side, Viktor can see the beginnings of green fields stretching off into the distance — they are at the edge of Sector Green. 

It takes a lot of genetic modification, fertilizer, and careful attention to grow anything on this barren Earth. Viktor has never seen an actual plant in his life. This would be the first time.

“Have we still not reached the star?” he asks Yuuri, and Yuuri shakes his head.

“It's out there in Sector Green,” he says.

“Wow,” Viktor says, and chuckles half-heartedly, “I guess if I'm leaving the Capitol, I should at least take a look at Sector Green while I'm at it.” Yuuri kneels to let him off and he alights, stretching a little. He groans as his back pops and swings his arms side to side, twisting his waist. Yuuri waits patiently for him to be done before stepping into the Subdome, lifting his arm. Viktor ducks quickly under his arm and through the energy field.

On the other side, it's just crops stretching out into the faraway distance. Viktor can't help but bend to touch the grass. The grass is—  _ moist _ in a way he hadn't anticipated. He wipes his hands gingerly on his pants, grimacing, and stands.

There is no one else around that he can see. It's also still dark, with no transport available for them to sneak onto, so Yuuri kneels again wordlessly. Viktor climbs onto his back.

“I'm going to go a little faster now,” Yuuri tells him.

“Uh,” Viktor says, “okay.”

This time, when Yuuri takes off, Viktor instinctively fists his hands on Yuuri’s shirt, alarmed. On the vast empty fields, with no need to watch out for guards, Yuuri is  _ frighteningly _ fast — definitely faster than a shuttle, which is alarming in itself. The long grasses pass them in a dizzying blur, and Viktor wraps his arms more tightly around Yuuri’s neck, looking toward the horizon over Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri says something then that he doesn't quite catch, voice carried away in the rush of wind.

_ “What?” _ he yells.

“You can sleep if you're tired!” Yuuri shouts, “I'll wake you when we reach the star.”

Viktor isn't sure how he's supposed to sleep with the wind roaring in his ears like this, whipping his hair madly — and a little painfully, if he's going to be honest — around his face. Still, he lays his head down on Yuuri’s back, and closes his eyes so he doesn't have to confront the frightening sight of the crop zooming past him.

Sleep takes him unexpectedly.

  
  
  


When he next wakes, it's almost light, and Yuuri is still running. Around them, the fields have been replaced by ponds. He leans forward to speak in Yuuri’s ear, even though Yuuri can probably still hear him otherwise. He can definitely  _ see  _ farther than Viktor can.

“What are they growing here?” he asks.

“Fish,” Yuuri answers, without looking back, “These ones are young tilapia I think. The adult tilapia were a bit further back, and before that, there was salmon.”

“Right,” Viktor says. He doesn't want to think too hard about how Yuuri knows. The ponds just look like ponds to him, but maybe Yuuri can see the fish. Maybe he can hear them. Do young fish make different sounds from adult fish as they move through the water? Probably, if they are significantly different in size.

Yuuri raises an arm, pointing.

“Look, we’re going into the tilapia nurseries now. These are where the eggs are.”

Viktor squints. Up ahead, there is some kind of signboard. It's still too far away for him to read, but he feels abruptly silly.

So  _ that’s  _ how Yuuri knows.

He clears his throat, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, and taps at his watch. The watch face lights up in front of Yuuri’s face. He raises an incredulous eyebrow. They are still a fair distance from the star.

“How far out  _ are  _ we?” he asks, “And we  _ still  _ aren't there yet?!”

Yuuri huffs. “I'm not sure how far,” he replies lowly, “but it's  _ far _ . I've been running at this pace all night.”

“Where  _ is _ this place even?”

Yuuri shrugs. Viktor zooms in on the map, mumbling a little to himself as he tries to estimate how long more they have to go.

“Is this speed hurting you?” Yuuri asks, and Viktor stops in his calculations to consider that. He doesn't want to know what his hair looks like, and his face is feeling a little numb from the wind, but otherwise, he’s feeling pretty okay. 

“No,” he says.

Yuuri begins to run faster, and faster, and  _ faster _ , until Viktor has to hide his face in Yuuri’s nape to avoid the sting of the wind.  _ God,  _ he just thinks to himself, alarmed,  _ just how fast can he run?  _ Luckily, Yuuri’s gait is fairly even. Viktor does not feel particularly jolted around, though his back is beginning to ache a little from the long hours spent travelling. He resolves to ask Yuuri for a quick break before heading back so that he can stretch again.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he clings a little more tightly to Yuuri, and hopes they reach their destination soon.

  
  
  


The fields eventually turn into slums, and Yuuri has to slow a little to avoid the shuttles that are beginning to ferry workers out into the fields. It's a similar system to that in Sector Blue.

All to supply food and goods to the Capitol, Viktor thinks soberly.

By mid-morning, most of the shuttles have left the slums and have gone out into the fields. Yuuri speeds up again as the arch of the Dome comes into view, curving up and over them. Viktor watches the map in front of him as they continue to run, but they are still a good distance away from the star.

“Is there something wrong with this thing?” he mumbles, restarting the app, but the map looks exactly the same when it starts up again.

Viktor frowns as they draw nearer and nearer to the Dome. The distance between the orange dot and the red star has halved from when they were in the Capitol, but somehow, they still seem to have a long gone way to go. Finally, the slums peter out into empty ground, and then—

They come to the end of the Dome. 

Yuuri draws to a halt, staring disbelieving past the energy field. When Viktor taps on his shoulder, he kneels so that Viktor can get off, and then begins to walk hesitantly forward. He phases easily through the Dome.

Viktor puts a hand against the force field nervously, as Yuuri continues to walk out into the sand. He stops about ten meters away, and just stands there for awhile, looking out over the darkened horizon.

Outside the Dome, there is nothing. No factories or fields. No people. No shuttles. It's just sand, for miles, and miles, and miles.

After a few moments, Yuuri turns around, and walks back towards Viktor. “What's out there, Yuuri?” Viktor asks immediately, as he passes back into the Dome, “What can you see?”

Yuuri turns, staring back out into the desert.

“Nothing,” he says, “Nothing but sand.”

  
  
  


When Viktor next wakes, the sun is high in the sky and they have nearly reached Sector Blue again. They've snuck onto a shuttle to ferry them back out now that it's day. Travelling is a lot slower by shuttle, however, and Viktor can't help but look forward again to nightfall. It doesn't help that the shuttles are cramped and uncomfortable.

Yuuri squeezes his hand where their hands are clasped together behind his back, and smiles. He nudges a packet towards Viktor. Viktor groans quietly, but opens the packet, and begins to eat. He's never going to take any food in the Capitol for granted ever again. 

At that thought, he can't help but look around him, at the people squeezed into the shuttle with him — skinny, quiet, and all with their heads lowered. These are the people who farm the food that they get in the Capitol. That's an extremely sobering thought.

They get back out of the shuttle nearer to the Subdome. By then, the sun is already setting. They sneak through the Subdome and into Sector Blue under cover of darkness, taking the back lanes to avoid the shuttles that are ferrying workers back into the slums. The makeshift housing around them is shoddily constructed, the walls just wooden planks untidily hammered together, with aluminium sheets piled on top for cover. In the darkness, he can see the flicker of fire through the gaps in the aluminium and wood, little spots of light spread out through the slums like fireflies. He can hear the low hum of voices now, the rustle of movement, the quiet clatter of plates.

As a shuttle stops on the other side of the building from them, Yuuri pauses in the shadow of a narrow alleyway.

Viktor watches quietly over Yuuri’s shoulder as a military officer hops off the shuttle, using his baton to herd the people out of the vehicle. He’s yelling something that Viktor can't quite make out as workers file out of the shuttle neatly, heads lowered, and dissipate quickly into the nearby slums. As the last person steps out of the vehicle, however, a young woman with shoulder-length hair, the military officer reaches out and pats her on the rump.

She stops.

“Go on then,” the officer says loudly, “Away with you.”

She turns around, throwing a sharp glare at the man— before continuing on her way. Viktor’s mouth drops open.

“What?” the officer is saying now, brows drawing together into a furious scowl as he follows behind her, “You’re not happy? Are you showing me attitude,  _ bitch?” _

She does not respond, just keeps walking with her head down— but her eyes, as she passes by a nearby lamp, are  _ angry.  _ The officer grabs her by the elbow, yanking her around to face him.

“Who do you think you are?” he bellows right into her face, “Out here, I can kill you right now or have you Altered and no one can stop me! Out here, I am  _ God  _ and I can do  _ anything  _ I want! Do you understand that, bitch?!”

He raises his baton, and Viktor shuts his eyes.

The next moment, he's falling.

When his eyes snap open, it is to the bone-chilling sight of Yuuri standing between the guard and the young woman, holding the guard’s wrist, face drawn into an almost animalistic snarl. Before the guard can even  _ blink,  _ Yuuri reaches out and presses his hands firmly over the man’s face. Yuuri’s eyes are sharp, single-minded, as the guard begins to struggle. Hands still pressed over the man’s face, he forces the guard down onto his knees, and then down onto the ground.

Viktor stands up and runs forward as Yuuri sinks down on one knee, hands still pressed over the guard’s face. The young woman comes up behind them, hands fluttering as if at a loss for what to do, as Viktor grabs Yuuri’s shoulder, whispering his name furiously. Yuuri does not budge, does not even look up, just continues to stare down with single-minded focus as the man’s struggles slow beneath him— and then still completely.

There is a long moment of silence as Viktor stares numbly down at the body at his feet.

“You killed him,” the woman whispers, shocked.

Yuuri finally takes his hands off the man’s face, and puts one palm against the guard’s chest. After a couple more moments, he stands.

“No,” he says quietly, “He’s just passed out from air loss.”

Viktor lets out a breath then, heart rate slowing back to a normal speed. The woman appears to be similarly relieved, taking a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at her forehead.

“Jesus,” she whispers to herself, cursing quietly under her breath, before she seems to come back to herself. She turns to Yuuri. “What in God’s name  _ are  _ you?” she asks, incredulously.

“Okay!” Viktor yelps, coming between them with his hands raised, “Can we please put distance between us and this incriminatingly knocked out man? Please?”

The woman seems to snap out of her shock then. Her eyes sharpen as she grabs Yuuri’s arm in one hand, and Viktor’s wrist in the other. She shoots a quick look over her shoulder, before beginning to drag them off into the slums.

“Come with me,” she hisses.

  
  
  


They follow the woman as she expertly makes her way through the darkened slums, occasionally passing in and out of other people’s dwellings. The inhabitants look up at them with surprise, only to cry out in greeting at the sight of the woman. It appears to be dinner time, most of them gathered together in tight circles around meager meals, faces lit by dancing torches.

“Where are we going?” Viktor asks once, and is ignored by the woman.

They continue ducking in and out of people’s houses, sneaking down dark alleys, until they reach an empty shack. The woman peers once over her shoulder, before using her foot to move the straw covering the ground aside. Viktor is surprised to notice that there's wood underneath.

She kneels, and raps twice on the wood. After a short wait, the wood opens outwards —  _ a trap door.  _ She beckons sharply to them, lifting her skirts slightly as she begins to descend down the stairs and into the ground. Shooting each other a somewhat incredulous look, the two of them follow her down into the bunker.

They soon find themselves in some kind of communal space. There are long wooden tables and benches lined up across the large underground space, where people are seated with bowls and plates, laughing and chattering, and occasionally shouting to another person across the room. Up against the far wall, there is a yellowed cloth hung up, with a large red star painted onto it.

Viktor discreetly double-checks their map on his watch, but this is not the place.

“Oi!” a man yells towards them, “Who are these two?”

The people at the table nearest to them quiet, turning to regard them with suspicious eyes.

“Why did you bring them here?” demands a woman sitting at the table, “Who are they?”

“Friends,” the young woman with them says firmly.

They are soon seated at one of the tables. Someone brings over two bowls of some kind of vegetable stew, setting it down in front of them, and Viktor begins to dig in immediately, famished. It definitely helps that the soup smells — and tastes — delicious, especially after the mush he'd had on the shuttle.

A portly man laughs deeply, patting his belly. “You like the stew?” he asks, laughing again when Viktor nods, “That's great. I made the stew. I'm the community chef here. Once in awhile, we pool all our rations together and try to make something special. I've never seen you two around before though, where are you from?”

“Uh,” Viktor says.

“District two,” Yuuri responds immediately.

The chef’s eyebrows shoot right up. “Wow,” he says, “That’s— all the way on the other side of the Capitol from us. How did you even get here?”

“That’s just a bad cover story,” the young woman who'd brought them cuts in flatly, “They aren't from around here. They're just passing through.”

Viktor winces, but the people around them don't seem to bothered by it. Conversely, they seem to be getting excited instead.

“They must be operatives,” one woman whispers loudly to another, so loudly that the rest of the table erupts in mutters after she says it. They are getting a lot of considering sideways glances now, and Viktor still doesn't know what is happening. He shoots Yuuri a bewildered look, and Yuuri shrugs back, looking just as confused by the sudden commotion.

“It's been awhile since we've heard from that other operative, hasn't it?” someone mutters.

“Maybe she was caught.”

A young man a seat down stands up, and leans over his neighbor towards them. “Are the two of you  _ really  _ operatives?” he whispers, and is quickly shushed by an older woman.

“If they were,” she hisses sharply, “they certainly wouldn't tell  _ you _ about it!”

He sits back down, looking chastised.

Another man stands up, holding up his mug. “I propose a drink to our guests!” he announces, “Whoever they may be, they are our guests for the night, and we should make them feel welcome!”

“A toast, a toast!” someone else cries.

Another person comes by and slams two mugs down in front of the two of them. Viktor leans over, and is slightly surprised to notice that the mug appears to be full of  _ beer. _ With how rationed alcohol is in the Capitol, he's shocked that they have what appears to be enough beer for a small village.

“Where did you get this?” he asks.

“We stole it,” the young woman who’d come with them says, without any intonation at all. The rest of the table goes off in uproarious laughter. Viktor isn't really sure what's so funny. Still, he takes a ginger sip of the — apparently stolen — beer.

“Aren't you going to eat?” the portly chef asks Yuuri then, and Yuuri bites his lip.

“I don't really eat,” he says, after a moment.

_ “Is that because he’s an operative?” _ the young red-haired man whispers loudly, and is shushed loudly again by the rest of the table. The older woman slaps him on the arm, and he subsides under her scathing look.

The portly chef leans over to them. “Don't mind him,” he whispers, “He has a bit of a hero worship thing going on — even hopes to become an operative one day.” The man laughs. “Runs in the family, probably,” he shares, “His parents were killed in a crackdown when he was just a boy. They were rounded up, along with the rest of the revolters, and they never came back.”

Viktor chokes on his beer.

“Revolters?” Yuuri asks, in a small voice.

“There've been a lot less of them these days, haven't there?” the man says, “I guess it's because we’re all just biding our time, keeping our heads down and waiting for the right time to strike back, especially after the last spate of revolts failed.”

“I think they must have wiped out a district worth of people in that crackdown,” a woman jumps in, “They just gathered up all the dissenters, every single person involved. We never saw them again.”

“We’re just waiting now,” the chef continues, “Fight smart, don't fight hard. One day when they are weak, when they are down on their knees and expecting it least, we’ll be there to take them down. Until then, we wait.”

“I just fear we’re running out of time,” an older woman sighs. “Troubling whispers reach us from the Capitol. There was an operative who spoke of plans to replace the military with weaponized androids that cannot be hurt, cannot be killed. If we allow them to perfect that technology, no revolt will ever bring them down.”

Viktor’s eyes widen as the chef smacks her jovially on the shoulder, causing her to spill her drink.

“Oh, shush, you,” he hollers good naturedly, even as those nearby jump to their feet to clean up the mess, “There you go again, worrying needlessly about baseless rumors and spoiling the mood. Come, another toast to our two friends here!”

As the whole table rises to its feet amongst hearty cheers, Viktor looks to Yuuri. 

Yuuri meets his gaze, looking just as troubled.

  
  
  


They spend the evening in the slums, talking, laughing, and drinking. Sometime later in the evening, the group grows intoxicated enough that they uproot themselves from the table, promising to introduce Viktor and Yuuri to “everyone”, before they head out into the streets.

They are led through a series of houses, and shown into a number of similar underground bunkers. They stop for awhile in a bunker that has roasted a number of whole pigs, which Viktor soon finds out have also been stolen, and sit down to partake in the scarce meat. Viktor is surprised to note that a fair number of the underground bunkers fly banners with the red star. He’s beginning to think that the symbol means something that he's not yet aware of.

Eventually, the intoxicated group loops back to the bunker they'd came from, where Viktor and Yuuri finally part ways from them. The young woman who'd brought them there leads them back out to the main road, before she leaves them there to return to the bunker.

Yuuri kneels so that Viktor can climb onto his back again. He waits for Viktor to wrap his arms safely around his neck before he stands and takes off into the night.

  
  
  


The moment he steps through the Subdome, his watch begins to ring with message after message. He has seven missed calls from Yakov and Lilia.

**Please come home** , reads the last message from Lilia.  **Please.**

Something's not right.

“I need to go back,” he says, “Something's happened.”

They get into a shuttle while Viktor calls home, but no one picks up. Worried, he sends off a few texts to Lilia and Yakov. Yuuri puts a hand on Viktor’s thigh, biting his lip, as Viktor puts his face in his hands. He spends the rest of the ride back anxiously checking his watch. No reply comes to his messages.

By the time they reach the house, the sun has set. The house is dark, save for a single light turned on in the living room. Yuuri sits down on the front step to wait while Viktor goes in by himself. When he walks through the door, Lilia and Yakov are sitting at the table.

Lilia looks like she's been crying.

“Where have you been?!” Yakov demands immediately, “We’ve been calling for days, but the calls just wouldn't go through!”

“What's happened?” Viktor asks, numb.

Yakov’s face crumples, and he turns away, covering his face with one hand. Lilia puts a hand on his forearm. “A teacher discovered Yuri with a boy,” she whispers, “We got the call on the day you left.”

The whole of Viktor’s body goes cold.

“What?” he chokes out, “So what now? Is he going to sent to a rehabilitative camp? Is there going to be an investigation?”

“There's not going to be an investigation,” Yakov says, voice hollow, “It’s not like your case where we could— just dismiss it as a rumor. It’s not even like your case where it was just about rehabilitation. A teacher  _ found them together,  _ and it appears that they’d already been involved for some time.”

“So what—”

Yakov puts an arm around Lilia’s shoulder as she turns her face away. He looks tired, like he's aged decades over the past three days. There are deep lines around his eyes and mouth, tension written all over him.

“The two of them have been brought back to be tried,” he says, “But we were denied the chance to go to the trial.” He closes his eyes. “They've been sentenced.”

_ Sentenced. _

“Have they already been—”

Viktor cannot bring himself to complete the word. His whole body feels numb, too numb even for tears. He thinks back to the man they'd seen on the shuttle, his aghast confusion, his distressed wails. He thinks to the blank stare of the other man.

“We need to stop this from happening,” he whispers, horrified.

“We can't,” Lilia says, tiredly, “We’ve been shut out of the process completely. We can't even request a retrial. We can't even—” She closes her eyes. “We can't even see him one last time.”

Yakov puts a hand over his eyes, and Lilia sets a comforting hand on his arm. Viktor just shakes his head slowly. This can't be happening. This—

“No!” he snaps, “There  _ must  _ be something we can do!” He turns around, wrenching the door open. “I'll be back,” he says.

_ “Viktor—” _

“I love you both.”

He yanks the door shut behind him, cutting off the rest of the protest. Yuuri stands from the front step, eyes wide.

“Yuri and Otabek were discovered,” Viktor tells him.

Yuuri sucks in a breath, eyes widening in horror.

“Will they have to go to a camp?” he asks.

“Worse,” Viktor croaks, “Alteration and exile.”

Yuuri puts his hands over his mouth. “What do we do?” he whispers,  _ “Oh god.” _

“I don't know,” Viktor says, “I—” He fists one hand in his hair. “I'm going to the office. I think if I could— get into one of the computers at Central Desk, I can figure out where he’s being kept.”

“If we go now, we can probably still make the last shuttle,” Yuuri says, urgently.

“Alright,” Viktor says, “Alright. Let’s do this.”

They take off for the nearest shuttle station at a run.

  
  
  


When they reach the Bodypolitik compound, the lights are turned off in the building. Everyone has left for the night, save for the receptionist on the first floor, who's still sitting at the counter. Viktor turns around, grabbing Yuuri by the shoulders. 

“She's still here,” he hisses, incredulous, “How am I going to get to the top floor?”

Yuuri grabs his wrist, leaning in close. “Only one of the lifts is working right now,” he whispers, pointing — the lights in the other lifts have been turned off. “I’m going to scale the building and press for the lift from the top floor. Get in the lift.”

“There are almost two hundred floors!” Viktor exclaims.

Yuuri shoots him a flat look, before turning to look up at the building. Viktor slaps his hands over his cheeks as Yuuri  _ leaps up,  _ grabbing onto the side of the tower, and begins to scale it without a backward glance. Viktor looks over his shoulder, but there's no one else around.

Alright.  _ Jesus.  _ Alright.

He smooths down his shirt, and then summons up a smile. Clearing his throat, he starts up a brisk walk. The doors open automatically for him as he approaches, and he raises a hand in jovial greeting as he strides purposefully into the building.

“Just left something behind!” he sings.

The receptionist looks up at his entrance, and then stands, eyes narrowing, as she pulls something out from under the table.

She points it at him, and fires.

There’s a moment of excruciating pain, his whole body locking up and convulsing spasmodically— 

— before the world goes black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> One more chapter guys, and then we'll be taking a break before the next half of the series comes up!! I'm in exam periods at the moment so I'll be a little slow replying to comments, but know that I'm reading them and crying a little as I study. Thanks everyone.


	10. The Road Trip Thickens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud to tell everyone that this fic has art by my amazing artist/beta Izzy. The art can be found [here](http://izzyisozaki.tumblr.com/post/178876251561/when-youre-not-fighting-the-government-with-your), and it is actually for a scene in one of the later chapters. For now, please feast your eyes and try to contain the warm and fuzzies, and please try to reblog and give Izzy all the love!
> 
> Dystopia tag still in force. Shit is GOING DOWN.

****When he wakes, it is to chaos.

Blurry figures move around him agitatedly, raised voices melting together into an indistinguishable cacophony. He tries to move, but there is something holding him down— something around his wrists and ankles, something strapped over his chest. He struggles harder against his bindings, rattling the chair he's sitting on, and the voices quiet abruptly.

“He's awake,” someone says.

He flinches away instinctively as a shadowy hand reaches for his face. A moment later, the blindfold is removed, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden brightness.

When he finally opens his eyes, severe faces loom over him. There are seven men in suits standing around him in a dimensionless white room.

“We are giving you the chance to plead guilty to your crimes,” says the tallest of the men, stoic. “Tell us where your headquarters are.”

“My—” Viktor begins groggily, “My _what?”_

Another man groans, turning away.

“He probably doesn't even know!” he snaps, impatiently, “Not if they based him here—”

“We have to try,” another man bites out, “This is the closest lead we’ve had in _months—”_

_“Quiet!”_

The arguing stops. The tallest turns back to Viktor, placing his hands on the armrests of Viktor’s chair as he leans down menacingly.

“Where,” he says slowly, “did you hide the boy?”

_“Who?”_

“How did you hack his biochip? Why can't we track his biochip anymore?”

“Track his— _what?!”_

They can track biochips. They can track— God. _God._ That’s—  Viktor goes cold. Do they know then, about his and Yuuri’s excursion out into the Sectors? They must know. Why else would he be here? But, he doesn't understand any of the questions they are asking him. What is _happening?_ Where is Yuuri— God, _where is Yuuri?_ Is Yuuri still waiting vainly for him on the top floor of the building, or is he being imprisoned somewhere in this compound? Can they track Yuuri too?

The tallest man slams his fist into the back of the chair, right beside Viktor's head, breaking him out of his thoughts. Viktor winces.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says hoarsely.

“We know that you took a _very_ timely trip to the edge of the Dome, _Mr. Nikiforov,_ along with a person carrying the mysteriously reactivated biochip of a dead boy, _”_ the man says, and tilts his head, “Did you think you could just drop your brother off with one of your operatives, and then come back here to continue _spying_ on the Bodypolitik?”

“My brother,” Viktor says, and then nearly chokes, “You mean Yuri?!”

“He's playing dumb,” another man sighs.

“We don't have the _time_ for this!” shouts the impatient one. “Central Desk wants the two boys back. We need to get them back!”

“They won't care about the boys once they know who we have here,” the tallest says, clearly the leader. He smiles at Viktor. _“A Resistance spy.”_

A chill runs down Viktor’s spine. He's beginning to think that he's gotten himself embroiled in something big, something _really big._ This is bigger than his excursion out into the Sectors. This is bigger even than Yuuri and his true purpose. This is _treason._

“I think there's been a mistake,” he whispers, feeling a little sick, “I don't— I don’t know what you mean by Resistance, I— I'm just a researcher. I admit that I left the Capitol when I shouldn't have but—”

The leader straightens up, turning to look at the others. He's clearly not listening. No one is.

“We’ll let the Commissioner know that we’ve caught a Resistance spy,” he says, “Then we need to go back out there and recover the prototype.”

_Prototype._

Yuuri is still out there. He hasn't been caught. Relief washes over Viktor, followed quickly by worry. Is Yuuri on the run now, frightened and alone?

“This prototype is going to be _way_ more trouble than it's worth to collect intact,” the impatient one complains, “I say we just destroy it and be done with the whole thing.”

“No—” Viktor whispers, horrified, but is interrupted before he can say more.

“The prototype may be our only lead to locating and eliminating the Resistance!” another man snarls, “Have you forgotten about that?”

“Well, we have _him_ now, don't we?” the impatient one argues, jabbing his thumb at Viktor.

“Enough!” the leader explodes, “Let’s not argue about this here. Knock him out. We're handing him over to the Commissioner.”

“Wait,” Viktor yelps, “I'm _innocent!_ I'm not a spy! I'm not—”

One of the men presses a stun gun to his chest.

_Pain—_

And then darkness.

 

When he next wakes, the First Assistant Commissioner is there. He's sitting cross-legged in a plush office chair, comfortable and seemingly rolled in specially for him, reading a report. He smiles when he notices that Viktor is awake.

“Good evening, Mr. Nikiforov,” he greets pleasantly, “Hasn't it been a while since we last spoke?”

Viktor notices, with some apprehension, that he's holding the stun gun in his lap, thumbing idly up and down the different intensity levels. He smiles again as he notices Viktor’s eyes on the gun.

“Let’s not worry about _this,_ shall we?” he says, raising the gun casually, “Hopefully we won't need to use it.” He laughs. Viktor doesn't quite get the humor in this situation. The man looks at the gun consideringly, still thumbing over the buttons. “I'm beginning to think this position of yours is cursed,” he says, “First Katsuki Mari, and now— you!”

He uncrosses his legs, turning to face Viktor fully, and leans in.

“Did you find the logs she was keeping in the prototype then?” he asks, “Is that how you first came into contact with the Resistance?”

Viktor does not answer. Even if he says no, no one will believe him. The First Assistant Commissioner chuckles, and then shrugs.

“Pity,” he says, “And here I thought we were getting along.”

He presses the gun against Viktor’s thigh and pulls the trigger.

The scream tears from him as pain rips through his body. His muscles give up in the immediate aftermath of the shock, and he sags forward in his bonds.

“It's on the lowest setting,” the First Assistant Commissioner tells him, and smiles, “I'm taking our good relationship into account.”

Viktor glares.

The man sighs, still seemingly amused. “Or maybe I should have expected this,” he laments, “I'd had a bit of an inkling from the moment I saw that black mark on your record.” He laughs again, shaking his head at Viktor— and his smile turns taunting. “A _boy_ at school? _Really?”_

Viktor can't help it then. He rocks forward in his chair and spits in the man’s smug face.

The First Assistant Commissioner jerks away. When he turns back, the smile has dropped off his face. He picks up the gun.

This time, Viktor manages to contain the scream to a short cry.

“How do you sleep at night knowing innocent people are enslaved outside the Capitol?” he manages, once the convulsions have stopped, “How do you live with all your _lies?”_

The First Assistant Commissioner just laughs. “Slavery?” the man asks, “Hierarchy is necessary for the functioning of every society— but I guess it was too much to hope you'd understand. You're young. You're idealistic. Human civilisation cannot flourish without division of labour. You don't like to acknowledge it, but someone is going to have to do the dirty work. Yet, those at the bottom eye the privileges afforded to those at the top, and grow jealous. They begin to clamor for more, begin clamor for equality, but with equality, the whole system falls apart. No one wants to perform backbreaking work, to till the soil and mill the wheat, for a fraction of what a programmer would earn. But society needs very few programmers, Mr. Nikiforov, and very many tillers and millers. Can we pay tillers and millers the same wage that people like you earn? There begins social unrest. In every society, there has been some form of class conflict.”

He smiles. “But look what we've done. We've created a world where we reap the benefits of hierarchy, but without the woes of social unrest. Isn't it amazing? Look around you. Look how far we've come. Have you ever had to want for anything in your life? Have you ever had to experience the chaos, the fear of knowing that somewhere in this small city, a mob is gathering to tear down the world we've built together? You, Mr. Nikiforov, should be familiar with the benefits of this system. Look where you are now.”

“In an interrogation room, you mean?” Viktor snipes.

He is promptly shocked again.

“If this system really is as perfect as you say,” Viktor pants, “then why do you need to control everything we say and do? Why do you need to stamp out every small whisper of dissent? Why do you need to watch us, to spy on us in every possible way? You're afraid, aren't you? You're  _afraid._  A city so clean and white, with skeletons rotting in every closet. You know this system you've used to reward yourselves on the backs of others is untenable. You know that soon, the people will rise against you, and you’re _afraid._ ”

The First Assistant Commissioner straightens to his full height. “We aren't afraid,” he declares stridently, “Why should we be when we’ve brought this society so far? Do you _know_ what this society was like after we retreated into the Dome, after the cataclysm that destroyed the Earth? Mass hysteria. Violence. _Strife_. There was nothing left. There was nothing to eat. The ground was scorched and the sky was red. What was the use of money when there was no food to buy it with? What was the point of working when there was no money to be earned? Instead, people segregated themselves into races, religions, belief systems, every combination and permutation of social grouping, and began looting and killing on the streets, fighting desperately for control of whatever scarce resources remained.”

He stands. “Then, out of the chaos, the _Bodypolitik_ rose,” he says, raising a hand, and clenching it sharply, “The Bodypolitik stopped the killing with a iron fist, and erased all concept of race, religion, culture, and all other forms of social membership. You believe in equality? _This_ is equality. The Bodypolitik instilled _everyone_ with the same beliefs and values, and in doing so, they put an end to social unrest forever. No more disagreements. No more strife. They created the Sectors, and with that, they brought stability back to this wretched society. Look at this city. Look how far we've come. Look at what we've  _done_ _._ Do you know what it was like in those early days? People were starving to death on empty streets, and their emaciated bodies were being left to rot. So desperate were some, that they took to eating the meat off those rotting bodies.”

“That's—” Viktor begins, horrified, but the First Assistant Commissioner does not even seem to notice.

“We have _nothing_ to be afraid of,” he asserts again, making a sharp downward gesture with one hand, _“Everything_ we’ve done has been for the good of society, and _that_ has brought us where we are today — a prospering city. Don't you see what happens when people are free? Do you think people truly know what is best for them?  Humans are fundamentally brutish, selfish, and short-sighted. When given the chance, humans will _always_ seek to further their own interests at the expense of others. This creates divisions and resentment, and then strife and violence. Freedom leads only to chaos and violence. The population doesn't know what's best for it. The _Bodypolitik_ does.”

He puts his palms on the armrests of either side of Viktor and leans over him.

“Complete control is the _only way_ to keep the population safe from itself,” he hisses, “We’re _stuck_ with one another here in this _cursed_ Dome. It's a very small place. There's _nowhere else to run_. Any hint of instability could again erupt into mass hysteria. Even the slightest spark will set it all off, and we will dissolve again into chaos, just like those early days. You need to understand what's at stake here. We are the _trustees_ of humanity’s future. Wouldn't _you_ agree too that complete control is the _only_ _way?!”_

Viktor jerks back, a little intimidated by the forcefulness in the man’s gestures. He swallows, and licks his lips, slowly, confusedly. It’s a tale that is familiar to him — familiar to everyone that has lived in the Capitol. From when he was just a boy, he’d learned of humanity’s history and of the early days in school, had been assured of the Bodypolitik’s necessity.

Now, however, he’s beginning to see cracks in the reasoning he’s long taken for granted. Something has changed in him. Something in him knows.

Nothing could ever make this  _right._

“You're so—” he whispers pityingly, “ _deluded.”_

The First Assistant Commissioner’s face shutters. After a moment, he hangs his head, and sighs. “I guess I shouldn't have expected you to understand,” he says, and chuckles, shaking his head, “I guess you're just like the rest of them after all. You don't have the fortitude and foresight to understand what the Bodypolitik does.”

He raises his wrist, and taps once on his watch. Immediately, a door opens somewhere in the whiteness, and people in white coats begin to stream into the room.

“I'm sorry it had to come to this,” the First Assistant Commissioner tells him, as two men wheel an operating table through the door, “For what it's worth, I really did enjoy our talks. I really did think you were different. It's nothing personal.”

He looks back at his watch, and then turns to the people in the white coats. “Extract his biochip and then dispose of the body,” he orders coldly, “Be careful with the chip. If his memories are damaged—” He smiles. “I will have _all_ of your heads.”

With that, he turns, and strides out of the room.

“Wait,” Viktor shouts, as the criminal alterers swarm around him, _“You can't do this!”_

A man zaps him with something that stuns him, but does not knock him unconscious. They undo the straps before lifting his unresisting body out of the chair. He tries to struggle but his limbs do not react. He can't even speak. His head lolls to the side as they heave him onto the operating table and begin to strap him down, but he cannot right it to see what is happening.

In his line of sight, there is a metal table, on which a number of scalpels and other operating tools are laid out neatly. Someone comes between him and the table, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.

This is it.

_God._

This is the end.

He closes his eyes tight. In that moment, an image comes to him — Yuuri, in the morning light, eyes closed and peaceful in sleep. Yuuri, sleeping so sweetly, the morning after they had first agreed to be together. Yuuri.

A single tear slides down over his nose bridge and into his hair. _Yuuri._

There's a quiet thud, followed by three cracks in quick succession. He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to know what the surgeons are doing around him.

It is only with the muffled scream, that he realizes that something is _seriously_ wrong.

The scream cuts off with a wet _crack._

Then, silence.

Someone cups his cheek, turning his face gently upwards. Yuuri’s concerned face comes into view.

“You're alive,” he whispers, and pulls Viktor up against his chest, _“Thank goodness.”_

“Yuu—” Viktor manages to slur, _“—ri.”_

He tries to look over Yuuri’s shoulder at the rest of the room, but Yuuri just shushes him, turning his face into Yuuri’s chest.

“Don't look,” he says.

He turns, and manages to pull Viktor onto his back. Viktor catches a short glimpse of four bodies in white coats on the floor, the nearest one’s head turned at a strange angle, before Yuuri turns his face away. _God,_ he thinks with a numb horror, shutting his eyes, _God_. The sight of the man’s twisted neck is imprinted on the back of lids.

Yuuri leaps up into a vent in the ceiling.

“Wh—”

The rest of the words refuse to form. _Where are we going,_ he wants to ask.

Yuuri just shushes him, and continues to crawl down the vent. “Don't worry,” he whispers, voice hard, “I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I'm _never_ going to let anyone hurt you again. We’re getting out of here.”

He pulls Viktor’s arms more securely around his neck, and drops down into a lower vent, and then down again, down and down and down, until they are dropping down into an office somewhere else in the building.

Dr. Okukawa stands up from her desk. _“Really?”_ she begins immediately, in a harsh whisper, “You two are just so _reckless!_ Do you even _think_ before you do anything?! Oh, I should have _known_ you two were getting up to no good.” To Yuuri: “Take off his shirt and put him face-down on the bed.”

There's a massage bed in the corner, covered in plastic wrap, which Yuuri hefts him onto, pulling his shirt off and turning his head sideways so that he can breathe.

“What’re you doin’?” Viktor manages, slurred.

“We need to remove your biochip so they can't track you,” Dr. Okukawa says sharply— He can hear the snap of rubber gloves behind him, a very unwelcome and alarming sound.

“I’ll die!” he protests, with some difficulty.

“Oh, shush! I'm not going to kill you!” Dr. Okukawa snaps, “I’ve been doing this longer than you've been alive, young man. I'm going to put you under general anaesthetic in a moment. Try not to move your head too much when you wake up.” She sobers for a moment then, crouching beside the bed so that they are face-to-face, her expression serious. “I really wish this could have happened under better circumstances,” she says quietly, “but at the moment, this is really our only option. Will you trust me on this?”

Viktor softens a little. “Trust you,” he whispers.

Dr. Okukawa smiles, wistfully. “I'm going to miss the two of you,” she says, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I hope that this is not the last time we’ll meet.”

She straightens and goes to retrieve something from her desk, before returning to his side. He feels a prick on his arm.

“Countdown from ten for me, sweetheart,” she murmurs.

“Ten,” Viktor slurs, shakily, “Nine. Eight—”

Darkness quickly overtakes him.

 

When he wakes up, he is moving.

Yuuri shushes him as he tries, groggily, to raise his head. He is lying with his torso over Yuuri’s lap, in the back of some kind of vehicle. They are surrounded by crates. His head hurts terribly, and the back of his neck too. He raises a hand to the back of his neck, fingers smoothing over gauze. The touch hurts so bad that he cries out.

Yuuri slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes widening, and puts a finger to his lips. He gently guides Viktor to lie back over his lap.

Groggy and in pain, Viktor drifts back into sleep.

 

He wakes to hushed voices. He is lying down in the back of a truck. When he turns his head, he sees three figures standing by the back. It's Yuuri with Mari’s parents. They are hugging him close, whispering to him tearfully. He tries to lift his head, but it hurts too much.

They turn at his groan.

Yuuri quickly looks back to the two of them, kissing them both on the cheek, and trading a few more hushed words, before he climbs up into the truck. Mari’s mother leans into the vehicle. “This truck will take you into Sector Blue,” she hisses, “You’ll have to find your own way after that. I'm sorry.”

Yuuri takes her hand. “No,” he says, shaking his head, “No. _Thank you_. We couldn't have gotten this far without you. I love you, Ma. Goodbye, Pa. I love you both so much.”

“Godspeed,” Mari’s mother whispers.

“Will he be able to pass through the Dome?” the driver asks from the front. He's talking about Viktor, Viktor realizes after a moment. Yuuri turns anxiously back to his parents.

“Without his biochip, the Dome won't register him as an entity,” Mari’s father confirms.

“Alright,” Yuuri breathes, clearly relieved.

“We love you,” the two of them whisper.

Yuuri nods, and then reaches up, untying something. An opaque sheet unrolls down, hiding them from sight. Outside, quiet footsteps move towards the front of the vehicle. There is some hushed whispering, before the car door slams shut, and the truck begins to move.

“Where are we going?” Viktor asks, hoarsely.

Yuuri bites his lip.

“Towards the star,” he says.

 

The journey starts off alright, but soon the jostling of the truck begins to grow uncomfortable. Discomfort soon turns to a persistent ache, and then to outright pain. He tries to keep silent, but as they go over a ditch in the road, he can't help the cry of pain.

Yuuri murmurs soothingly to him, cradling his head in the crook of his arm and pressing soft kisses to his hair. There's a distressed furrow between his brow as he fusses.

“I'm okay,” Viktor whispers.

Yuuri bends his head over Viktor’s, laying his cheek against Viktor’s shoulder. They stay that way, pressed close, Viktor’s breath hitching every time they go over a bump.

About half an hour in, Viktor falls into uneasy sleep.

 

At some point, Yuuri wakes him. He is on Yuuri’s back, standing in the shadow behind a factory. From the looks of things, they must be in Sector Blue.

“You're going to have to walk for a bit,” Yuuri tells him worriedly, “Can you stand?”

He gets down from Yuuri’s back, groggily. As he gathers his legs under him, however, his knees give out beneath him. Yuuri catches him by the waist, pulling one of his arms around his shoulders, and _lifting_.

“Oh,” Viktor says, as Yuuri takes his entire weight.

“Move your legs,” Yuuri murmurs.

His legs stumble clumsily beneath him. They do not seem to be listening to him. He closes his eyes, and after a moment, his head lolls onto Yuuri’s shoulder. Darkness threatens to take him, but he tries his best to keep unconsciousness at bay. Yuuri told him to walk. He is walking.

At some point, Yuuri stops, and other hands are touching him, lifting him up over a high step.

“What's wrong with him?” asks a sharp voice.

A moment of silence.

“Newly Altered,” Yuuri mumbles, “I think.”

A quiet scoff.

“Load him onto the back and make sure he keeps quiet.”

After a few moments, the vehicle begins to move. Viktor opens his eyes to see concerned faces. A old woman puts a gentle hand on his face. Around him, people are sitting huddled in a dark shuttle — Sector Blue workers heading home for the day.

“The wound is still so fresh,” the old woman whispers, “I’ve never seen one so new.”

“They usually give it a week,” someone else agrees, “He shouldn't be travelling like this.”

Yuuri keeps an uneasy silence.

Viktor closes his eyes, and unconsciousness takes him swiftly.

 

When he next comes to, he is lying on his front, head turned to the side, and there are voices all around. He recognizes the encircled red star on the wall immediately. Someone is pulling the dressing over his nape carefully away.

A sharp intake of breath.

“It's contaminated,” a strangely familiar voice says, pityingly — a young woman, “He shouldn't be travelling.”

He closes his eyes.

When he next opens them, a heated argument is ongoing.

“Please,” Yuuri’s voice is pleading, “Just a few days.”

“They've helped us once,” someone is hissing.

“They are operatives!” a young man insists.

“The operatives from Central received news that there's going to be a raid soon,” someone else snaps, “It could be any day. We _all_ need to evacuate.”

“Then we’ll give them our supplies,” the young woman’s voice says, brooking no argument, “When the raid comes, they'll be confiscated anyway. We need to start digging a new bunker.”

“Lie him down for awhile,” someone else says worriedly, “Stay until night falls. There will be less guards patrolling the fields then.”

Viktor closes his eyes.

 

They are running when he next opens his eyes. Fields are rushing past in a blur, fast, faster even than the last time they'd been here. The wind is so strong around them that he can't even raise his head. He licks his dry lips, every movement seeming delayed, his whole body numb and weak. He is shivering, he realizes then, much more than the chill of the wind should warrant.

“Yuuri,” he slurs.

Yuuri shushes him.

His eyes fall shut without him willing them to.

 

When Yuuri shakes him awake, they are crouched in a crumbling alley, somewhere in the slums. The Dome curves up and over their heads. Outside, the stars in the night sky are bright, brighter than he's ever seen them. They have reached the edge of the desert.

Yuuri lifts his head and trickles some water into his mouth. When he tries to feed Viktor a pinch of bread, however, Viktor finds that his mouth is too dry to properly chew it up. He closes his eyes as Yuuri trickles more water in his mouth. With some difficulty, he finally manages to swallow the bread.

He just lies there for a moment, drifting in and out of consciousness, until he feels lips against his own. He obligingly parts his lips. Something warm and mushy is pushed into his mouth.

He immediately turns his face away, wrinkling his nose.

“Did you just— _regurgitate that into my mouth,”_ he asks, weakly, “Like— Like a _bird?”_

“I did _not_ regurgitate it,” Yuuri huffs from somewhere above him, “I just chewed it up for you!”

Viktor can't help but laugh quietly. This is so bizarre.

“That's _gross,”_ he whispers, “That’s _so gross,_ Yuuri.”

Yuuri smooths tender fingers over Viktor’s sweaty brow, chuckling. Viktor forces his eyes open to the welcome sight of Yuuri’s smiling face, looking gently down at him, eyes soft.

“Alright,” Yuuri murmurs fondly, “I admit it. It was pretty gross. It had always seemed a lot more romantic in movies.”

Viktor chuckles.

“Kiss?” he asks.

Yuuri bends his head. Viktor closes his eyes, hooking one arm around Yuuri’s neck.

After a few moments, Yuuri breaks the kiss to bury his face in Viktor’s shoulder, not saying a word. Viktor opens his eyes. He stares for a long moment up at the twinkling stars.

“It's infected, isn't it?” he whispers.

Yuuri nods silently against his shoulder.

Viktor puts his other arm around Yuuri’s back, stroking soothingly between his shoulder-blades. His body is warm, warmer than usual, and thrumming hard. Viktor drowsily wonders if it's because he's been running for so long.

He closes his eyes.

Yuuri kisses his neck gently until he falls back asleep.

 

The cold wakes him. Around him, it is just sand, sand for as far as the eye can see. There is a shockingly cold wind blowing past them, and in the distance, a strange row of clouds gather just over the horizon, stretching out in a line that doesn't end. He is shivering, he realizes, his teeth chattering so hard his jaw aches.

He tries to speak, but only manages a croak. Yuuri shushes him immediately.

“We’re not alone out here,” he whispers.

Viktor stiffens, suddenly alert.

Around them, under the sounds of rushing wind, he can hear a strange, low keen, echoing out over the desert. It does not sound like anything he's ever heard before.

“To our left.”

Viktor weakly turns his head. Out in the distance, there is something, something _large._ It raises its horned head.

Another low keen echoes out into the desert.

“It hasn't noticed us,” Yuuri tells him.

He becomes slowly aware of a low beeping. Dazedly, he notices that Yuuri is wearing his watch. The map is pulled up on its face, beeping quietly with every slow flash of the red star.

“I think it'll probably get quite hot in the mid-afternoon,” Yuuri says nervously, “I’m going to try to pick up the pace so we can reach the star before it gets too hot. Are you okay?”

Viktor nods his head weakly. As Yuuri begins to speed up, he closes his eyes, and sleeps.

 

The next time he wakes, he is struggling, slurring.

“It's me,” a familiar voice is saying, “It’s Yuuri. It’s _me.”_

He quiets down, confused and disoriented. When he tries to talk, only slurred gibberish comes from his mouth, a strange blurred mix of words. Yuuri shushes him desperately.

“There are beasts around,” he whispers, “You need to eat something before we go, but you can't attract their attention.”

He closes his eyes. Water trickles slowly into his mouth, but he chokes as he tries to swallow it, and bucks up, coughing. It hurts. It hurts a lot.

“Shhh,” Yuuri soothes, rocking him, “It’s okay.”

Yuuri tips the bottle over his lips again, but Viktor turns his face away, whining.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Yuuri coaxes, “Here, let’s sit up some more. Open your mouth.”

As the water trickles down his parched throat, he realizes just how thirsty he is. He reaches blindly for the bottle, gulping desperately, trying to sit up.

“Slowly,” Yuuri soothes, “Slowly.”

Once the bottle is empty, Yuuri takes a pinch out of a loaf of bread, but Viktor turns his face away.

“You have to eat,” Yuuri says pleadingly.

Viktor whines into his shoulder, letting out little distressed huffs. It's so cold, and his whole body hurts. His throat hurts. His head hurts. Every breath hurts. Even the shivering is hurting him, but he can't stop. Yuuri seems to capitulate as a single frustrated tear rolls down his cheek.

“Okay,” he whispers, and begins to heft Viktor onto his back, “Okay, up we go then, darling. You're okay. You're doing fine.”

Viktor closes his eyes, sniffling a little, as they continue running.

 

The next time he wakes, the sun is rising. Yuuri is mopping up the sweat on his forehead with a damp cloth, eyebrows drawn worriedly together.

“Your temperature spiked overnight,” he says, “You were having nightmares. I was… worried.”

Yuuri looks away, bottom lip trembling. The watch is beeping, faster now, much faster than before. From the hitch in Yuuri’s voice— he’d probably been worried Viktor would not live till morning.

“Can we,” Viktor whispers, “stop for awhile?”

Yuuri stops, helping him down gently. They sink down into the sand, Viktor’s head cradled in the crook of Yuuri’s arm. Something wet drips down onto his face, and he realizes, with some amazement, that Yuuri is _crying._

He reaches out, touching Yuuri’s cheek with open wonderment. Yuuri laughs tearfully.

“I hadn't even thought I could cry,” he confesses, “Doesn't it make you wonder how it works?”

His voice breaks, and he buries his face in Viktor’s shoulder, breath hitching. Viktor turns his face against Yuuri’s cheek, closing his eyes.

“Watch the sunrise with me?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri pulls back, pulling Viktor up against him so they can watch the sunrise together. Viktor lays his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and just— breathes.

He only realizes that he's drifted off when the first ray of sun sweeps over the desert, as the sun inches up over—

“A mountain range,” Viktor whispers, “Wow. Isn’t it beautiful?”

In the sunlight, he can see that the strange line of clouds he’d seen on the horizon are actually _ice caps,_ bright and faintly glowing. He’d never thought he'd ever see anything like it. He never thought he’d ever come so far from the place he was born.

“It's so much more beautiful than I could ever have expected,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

He dozes for a while more, until Yuuri shifts, pulling a bottle of water out of the sack he’s carrying, along with some bread.

“You should drink a little water, eat some more before we go,” Yuuri says quietly, “Just drink half of the water. We need to ration it. It's probably going to get very hot in the afternoon. We need to have enough water then.”

Privately, Viktor can't help but wonder if he’ll make it through the heat, but says nothing. From the look on Yuuri’s face, however, he's wondering the same thing.

 

It gets hot. Very hot.

Underneath him, Yuuri skin is growing uncomfortably warm. He’s whirring hard, but he does not slow, does not even seem to tire. Every once in a while, they will stop so Yuuri can trickle some water into his mouth, murmuring soothingly to him.

At some point, his murmurs grow panicked, and he forces Viktor to keep drinking even when Viktor tries to push him away. The words do not make sense to him. His whole body is hot, and the skin on his back hurts like a raw wound whenever Yuuri touches him. He cries out, crying, and struggles, as Yuuri drapes a rough wet cloth over his raw skin.

In the haze of pain, he slips back into delirious dreams.

 

He comes to in the shadow of a large rock. There are empty bottles strewn all around them, and the sun is dropping low in the sky. Yuuri is murmuring to him, cradling his face, and he knows immediately what had happened.

“The fever spiked again?” he asks in a whisper.

“Yes,” Yuuri says. After a pause— “It got too hot to continue. I think— I think the sun was burning you.”

“Is it safe to stop?”

“The beasts go underground during the day, when the surface gets too hot.”

Yuuri peers carefully around the rock as he pulls Viktor onto his back. Viktor winces. Aside the persistent pain in his neck and head, the skin of his back smarts with every movement, stretched painfully tight.

“Is there anything out there besides the beasts?” Viktor asks in a croak.

Yuuri stands.

“There are Bodypolitik machines roaming the desert,” he says quietly, “They attack on sight.”

“How do you know they are Bodypolitik machines?”

Yuuri takes off at a jog, looking left, and then right, speeding up when he does not see any approaching vehicles.

“One spotted us earlier,” he explains, “It fixated on us, and I had to leave you for a bit to destroy it. I saw the _eye_ painted on it when I got close.” His voice turns hard. “I'm not intending to let that happen again.”

On the watch in front of them, the map continues to beep, faster now, faster than before, the star flashing with each beep.

Viktor settles into an uneasy sleep, the beeping floating in and out of his dreams.

 

He shakes himself awake to the sound of rapid beeping. The sky is turning blood red with the sunset, and Yuuri is still running, his eyes fixed desperately on the map before him.

“We’re almost there now,” he's whispering fervently, “Just hang on. We're almost there.”

Viktor manages to turn his head enough to peer over Yuuri’s shoulder. They are almost at the foot of the mountain range. He doesn't have the strength to lift his head to find the tops of it, but it looms over them, casting a long, dark shadow.

He closes his eyes.

Still semi-conscious, he notes the quickening beeps amidst Yuuri’s fervent whispering, quickening, quickening, until it trails off into a long, neverending beep.

Yuuri stops then.

“Something’s wrong,” he's whispering frantically, “Are we slightly off? Give me a moment, I'll regenerate the coordinates.” The beep stops. A few moments later, it starts up again. “It's correct,” Yuuri whispers, “There must be something here. God. _God._ There must be— There must—”

Viktor opens his eyes, weak. On the watch face, the orange dot is perfectly overlapping the red star. He looks around.

There's nothing, not even a tree or a rock.

There’s absolutely nothing there.

Yuuri sinks slowly to his knees, breath hitching. Viktor just sits with him in the sand, just continues to hold him gently from behind. After a few moments, Yuuri’s harsh breathing breaks into a sob, and he puts his face into his hands.

 _“Yuuri,”_ Viktor murmurs soothingly.

“This is all my fault,” Yuuri whispers into his hands, “You didn't want to leave the Capitol in the first place, but I—” He sobs. “And then bringing you out here on a desperate gamble— In the end, there's _nothing_ out here, and it's all my fault. It's _all my fault.”_

 _“Yuuri,”_ Viktor coaxes, “Hush, darling. Look at me.”

Yuuri turns in his arms, and Viktor presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes.

“Do you remember what you said?” he asks quietly, “Do you remember what you told me? There are _some things_ worth breaking the rules for. There are some things worth _fighting_ for— _dying_ for. Do you remember that?”

A sob punches out of Yuuri. “I'm not one of those things, Viktor,” he chokes, “I'm not.”

“Hush,” Viktor whispers, “Just kiss me. Just kiss me.”

They hold each other desperately close. Their cheeks are wet, and Viktor is no longer sure whose tears those are. Yuuri’s lips part against his, gasping brokenly, and Viktor kisses the sobs from his lips. “No more tears,” he murmurs fiercely, “No more now, my love. Hush.”

Yuuri turns his face into Viktor’s chest, shoulders shaking, biting down on his knuckles to stifle the sobs that are wracking through his body. Viktor tilts his face heavenward.

Stars are already beginning to appear in the quickly purpling sky — so many, so _bright_.

“Look at the stars, Yuuri,” he whispers, “I've never seen them like this in the Capitol. Aren't we lucky to see this?”

Yuuri whines.

“We’re so lucky,” Viktor insists, “I’d never change a thing about meeting you. God, I love you so much. Life hadn’t really been life before you, you know? Did you know I’d always dreamed of meeting a sentient AI as a boy?” He laughs fondly. “I was so young then, and yet I’d already been so deeply lonely, wishing so desperately for a person made just for me. Now I have you, and you weren't made for me, but that makes it so much better. You're my best friend. You’re the love of my life. God, I’m lucky. I'm _so_ lucky.”

 _“Viktor,”_ Yuuri keens, sobbing harder.

Viktor closes his eyes, smiling. “Hush, darling,” he whispers tenderly, “Hush. All I want now, is to lie down next to the love of my life, and watch the sunset. Isn't it beautiful, Yuuri? Have you ever seen the horizon so broad, so endless? Have you ever seen the world so vast, so mysterious? Lie down with me. The sunset will be amazing.”

Yuuri lies down. Viktor shifts and, after a moment, curls up by Yuuri’s side, laying his head on Yuuri’s chest. His chest is thrumming quietly — a sound so familiar and so loved that it almost makes him cry, and Viktor turns his face up so that the tears won't fall.

Up above, the stars are bright, fading out gradually where the sky is still orange from the sun. They watch the sky until the sun vanishes below the mountain tops, until the last tinges of pink are gone, and night has fallen. As it turns dark, Viktor presses a kiss to Yuuri’s hair, content now, and ready to go.

Closing his eyes, he waits for sleep to take him.

He feels, more than hears, Yuuri’s intake of breath. Yuuri sits up, staring out over the open sand for a long moment with a keen gaze, before his eyes widen, and he curls around Viktor protectively.

Around them, strange creatures made of copper rise out of the sand like sunken ships, shaped like the beasts Viktor had seen roaming the desert in the night. Yuuri snarls, muscles coiled, clearly ready to fight, until the copper back of the creature directly in front of them lifts, with a hiss, and opens.

A woman straightens up from its back, hair cropped short around her face.

There's a gas mask covering her mouth and nose, goggles over her eyes. Her breathing is slow and audible, oxygen whistling through the tubes and into her mask with every breath. She looks down upon them for a few long seconds.

The silence is soon broken by another low hiss, the back of another creature lifting up and opening. A smaller person sits up from within, immediately pulling their gas mask away from their face.

“Viktor?!” the smaller person asks, incredulously.

It’s Yuri.

The woman pulls the gas mask off her face then, too, and Yuuri gasps.

“Mari,” he whispers.

Viktor closes his eyes, and knows no more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has stuck through this far!!! I've never really written for views or comments. When I chose to write Do Androids Dream Of Revolution, it was because of my deep frustration with the regime that governs my country. I knew that this genre would not be one that many people would want to read. While it's is true that in the end, this fic has not been nearly as popular as my other fics, I've been amazed and delighted at the comments that have flooded my inbox. I really did not expect that anyone would want to pick up something of this length and topic to read. I'm so glad that all of you did. Thank you so much for your time. So many of you have taken the time to leave comments every single week, and to leave such thought-out comments. It's been a delight every week hearing from you all. 
> 
> This project turned out to be way too ambitious to complete within the time constraints of the Live Love YOI Big Bang. I was advised then to split the work into two parts so that the first half could be published as part of the bang. The second part is still being written. I hope you will stick through while I write the next and final part of the series!! I will be posting a new chapter here to alert you when the next part is complete (I am also considering just continuing here instead of creating a new fic) so please subscribe/don't unsubscribe!
> 
> Also, I know Tumblr seems to be going down, but you can follow me on Tumblr at [asideoftrashplease](https://asideoftrashplease.tumblr.com/). I will also be creating a Pillowfort under the same name once Pillowfort is back up. If you liked the fic, please do reblog [ this post](https://liveloveyoibang.tumblr.com/post/178883522878/when-viktor-nikiforov-a-graduating-ai-programmer) so more people can read it!!


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